A Tale of Two Moons
by Seraphina1
Summary: Two elven sisters struggle through elven's society's tight restraints, while the world around them begins to fall apart in tthe quake of the One Ring. *CHAPTER 9* A bitterly cold winter brings upon Avaranthe a new darkness...
1. HellBringer

Intro:

This little piece of imagination takes place before the War of the Ring, starting about a year before Legolas the elf sets out for Rivendell and joins the Fellowship. Therefore, the only characters in this Part I of the story that are actually in the works of Tolkien are Legolas, Aragorn and Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. I pulled out as many resources as I could find on the time before the War of the Ring, especially the events leading up to it in the realm of Mirkwood as that is where the beginning of this story is based, but I couldn't find too much and much of what I've written is my own. Don't judge me too harshly :)

Disclaimer:

Lord of the Rings is not mine; it's characters are not mine. 

  
  


PART I - Mirkwood

  
  


Chapter 1 - Hellbringer

**

Ethuil

April 10 III 3017

It has begun. That which will doom us for sure. That which will bring destruction and hell raining down from the heavens; droves of orcs and demons to overrun us; the fall of the great name of 'Rivermoon'. One word to explain it all, one name to destroy us all: Vellesta. 

Need I say more?

Today, she drove the Lady Helena to tears; causing frightful squeals of panic to echo throughout the entire palace. Even King Thranduil heard the terrible screeching of Lady Helena at the mercy of Vellesta, as he conversed with his Lords in the Great Hall. Vella told Lady Helena a gruesome, terrible story; a story which, I am sure, included a numerous number of orcs and impossible feats of hideous torture. Instantly concocted on the spot of course. I could hear Vell's rising voice as she reached the climax of her dark tale, followed by the Lady's wails of fear and panic as Vella added the final touches to her masterpiece of terrible imagination. 

Lady Helena ran from our quarters in tears; Father strode in with King Thranduil on his heels, their swords drawn, demanding to know who was being tormented and by whom. The whole palace was up in arms and do you know what Vella did when faced with the accusations of terrorizing and causing a public disturbance? She stood there and laughed. Laughed! Father was so angry, he shook and turned an unhealthy shade of deep purple. But with King Thranduil there, Father couldn't' do much, so they marched out again, their swords resheathed.. All the while, everyone was glaring at poor Vella, though she seemed unconcerned by the furious glances thrown her way. That's Vellesta for you; my dear sister whom I sometimes hate with a passion, bringer of doom for us all. 

The worst thing is, this has been the third time in as many months that Vella has crept up on fragile ladies and caused all pandemonium to break out through all of Mirkwood! Twice, Father had to make public apologies while the Ladies themselves were fanned and subject to sedation. The third time, Vella had cut off the hair of Lady Halis, sneaking up unawares on the sleeping victim and with a 'snip!', sent the dark chestnut curl tumbling to the ground. When Lady Halis awoke, there were screams to be heard through all of Middle-earth. Vella was sent to her chambers for a week for that stunt, which she claimed, was worth the entire week and the whole month of kitchen work as well. 

When I saw Father later, he was brooding; a bad sign. When Father is angry, he turns different shades; when he is frustrated, he sputters and cannot seem to speak; when he is planning, he broods.

I fear for Vellesta, my sister. I fear for her well-being and her reputation which, I hear, has spread far throughout Mirkwood as "the hell-bringer". Ladies use her as an example to scare children into obedience: "Now now, my daughter, you must mind your manners lest you turn out like that dreadful Lady Vellesta Rivermoon!". I have tried everything in the hopes that she will change her ways. I have tried bribery and threats; I have even begged, asking her to change for me, her little sister whom she must set the example for. To everything, Vell just laughs and then promises to mind herself, for a time. And then it all happens again and Father is pushed just a little bit further. I fear Father has not much more room for Vella's antics.

Until then,

  
  


Avaranthe

**

  
  


Avaranthe Rivermoon, of Mirkwood Forest, closed the clasp of the gold-gilded diary and thought for a few moments as she tapped her fingers against the wooded writing desk. She gazed outside at the golden sun that shone upon the tall trees that made up the forest of Mirkwood but felt none of its shining glory. In the chamber next to hers, she could hear her sister throwing books against the walls. Vellesta was at it again. Since that morning, when she'd been condemned to her chambers for tormenting Lady Helena, Vella (as those who knew her well called her) had been ripping pages out of texts and throwing books against the wall as an outright burst of defiance. 

Avaranthe stood and walked to the opposite wall, pressing her ear against its cool surface as the ripping and banging ceased for a few moments. She grimaced, wondering if one particular text was still intact and hoping that it was.

"Vell?" She called, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the empty suddenly-quiet room. "Vella?"

*thud*. Ava jumped back as more books came hurling in her direction. She winced as she thought of the ancient texts that Father had ordered Vella to translate in a hopes of calming her, being ravaged and torn apart by the terrible Vell. 

"Vella!" She yelled at the opposite wall, standing a good distance away from it. "You can't keep this up, you know! Father is going to come back and he's going to have a fit!"

There was a silence, and then an angry Vellesta Rivermoon appeared in the doorway, her dark hair coming out of its circlet and flying every which way. Her cheeks were red and her eyes glinted with a dangerous light. 

"For one thing," Vella advanced menacingly towards her younger sister, "I don't give a damn about what Father does. He can blow a hole for all I care! And another," Her green eyes narrowed and she suddenly pursed her lips, studying Ava up and down. "Shouldn't you be having a nap or something, baby sister?"

Ava gritted her teeth. She should've known this would be all the thanks she'd be getting; of course Vella would resort to the lowest of the low. Their age difference, pulling older sister superiority, now of all times.

"Ugh!" She seethed with frustration, annoyance and anger. "For one thing, Vellesta," she spoke the name with as much distaste as she could manage. "I am only four hundred eighty-seven years younger than you! For another, you can be sent to Mordor for all I care!"

"Then bugger off!" Vella shouted, whirling around and slamming the door back towards her own chamber. Ava was quicker though and scooted into the room and perceived the damage done to the ancient texts full of elven-lore. 

"Oh lord.." She said, taken-back despite the pleasure she knew that Vella would take in her horror. Feeling anger bubbling up once more, she turned on Vella. "Look at this! The whole of Mirkwood is going to be at our door for this!" She gesticulated wildly.

Ancient texts lay around the room in broken heaps, pages still fluttering to the floor. Pieces of parchment littered the room like snow and broken binding and covers bent every which way. That Father would blow a hole through the roof was not even exaggerating; Ava wouldn't be surprised if Father took to strangling his own daughter. 

"Why do you have to be like this?!" She demanded. "Why can't you be normal, like everyone else!"

"Hmphf." The expression on Vella's face spoke of her thoughts on 'normal'.

Ava picked her way through the shattered pages and texts and finally found what she had been looking for. An ancient book filled with elven-writing of the Second Age; a text that contained not only Elven records but also human text. The world of humans and fascinated Avaranthe; she took every opportunity to hear any and all news about them. To her sheltered life, the race of humans seemed exciting and passionate compared to the long-lived, peaceful elves. They always seemed to be getting themselves into one battle or another, overthrowing one king or another. Ava cradled the book which she'd thought would be lost for sure if kept much longer in the vicinity of Vella. 

"Don't you know," Ava spoke quietly, "that each time you throw a tantrum, our family's good name is tarnished even more. You're a lady, Vell, but you act like a fifty-year old child. Do you not hear the rumours that circulate? Do you not wish to be wed, to lead a life?"

"I wish to be left alone." Vella said, nodding towards the door. Ava rolled her eyes.

"It's your life, Vell." She started to head towards the door, ever intention to leave, until Vella leapt at her from behind, grabbing a fistful of Ava's pale hair. "Owww!!" Ava shouted, dropping the text for a moment to massage her wounded scalp. Keeping one hand on her sister's hair, Vella picked up the text that Ava had tried to smuggle away. 

"What's this? A human text?"

"Shut up! Give it back!" Ava swung her hands in an awkward attempt to grab the book. Vella's hand on her head prevented her from going anywhere; Vella was freakishly strong for her slender frame. 

"Human pictures?" Vella began skimming through the pages, noticing creased corners and folded pages. "What is this, baby sister, a fascination with the humans?"

"Give it back!" Ava lunged at her sister, throwing her full weight onto Vella.

"Umphf." 

They both landed on the floor, Ava on top, while each grappled the other. Vella still had her hold on Ava's long hair, which unbound, trailed down past her waist. She pulled, hard, causing Ava to shriek out in pain. In return, Ava began to push Vella's head, her hand lodged up underneath the older's chin. They remained lock in position, each unable to move lest the other recoil. Vella's legs flailed every which way while her other arm pushed and pinched, trying in vain to get the smaller body off hers. 

"Owwww! Goddamn!" Ava shouted as Vella got her in the eye. For that, she pushed extra hard, causing Vella to cry out in pain. 

"You like humans! You like humans! You want to marry a human!" Vella cried out in glee, laughing and choking until tears trailed down her cheeks. 

"Shut up shut up!" Ava said, pinching harder. Vella laughed, while Ava suddenly wanted nothing more than to be rid of the horrible person whom she had to call a sister.

"What will it be next, baby sister, maybe dwarves?"

"Argh!" 

In their fighting and shouting, they didn't notice the stranger leaning against the door, watching in amusement. 

"Ahem." 

The sisters froze. Vella glanced at the stranger, then grinned. Ava turned, her eyes widening in horror that she should be caught doing something as immature as fighting with her sister. She turned two shades of red, then leapt off Vella and grabbed her text. Vella sat up, brushing her skirts and grinning as if nothing had just happened. Ava shot one more nasty glance at Vella, vowed to hate her forever, then turn on her heel. At the doorway, she paused for a moment.

"She's horrible!" She whispered earnestly at the stranger, then slammed the door and retreated into her own room. The 'stranger' turned to the older sister and tried to keep a straight face. 

"Was that any way for a lady of your rank to act?" He asked sternly. He glared in what he hoped to be a furious manner, though inside, he was laughing dry tears. 

"Lady?" Vella glanced around the room, her eyes in open amazement. "Where's the lady, pray tell, for I must meet her!" 

They glanced at each other for a moment, an exchange of wills, then both burst out in laughter. Vella stood up and straightened her hair, then fell back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Next to her, the stranger also fell and they both studied the ceiling side by side as if having seen it for the first time. They began counting the tiles: a tradition long set.

"I count two hundred and forty-three."

"Two hundred and fifty!" The stranger rose up indignantly. 

"Are you questioning my mathematical ability?"

"Of course not." He lay back down, grinning. They were silent for a few moments, then Vella sat up.

"I'm sure you've heard wild tales of Lady Helena's traumatic morning, Prince?"

"Who hasn't?" Prince Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood frowned, his hands folded behind his head. "They're beginning to suspect that you have ogre blood in you; that is the latest rumor from the deep depths of gossip."

"And do you believe it?"

"Of course."

"Why, thank-you!" She laughed again. A deep bubbling laughter that filled up the entire room; Legolas had to join in.

Despite being wild, unladylike and feared by all the ladies at court, Vellesta Rivermoon was his best friend. No where else, other than in her presence, could he be carefree and willful, silent and brooding; whoever he wished to be. They had grown up together, running wild through the forests they called home. He could still rmemeber the first day he'd met Vella and Ava, the two sisters who -even then-where notorious for thier mischeif. Only children, they'd dragged the somber prince on a wild goose chase thatt led, finally, to them all tumbling down a ravine and spending the night in a cave. Needless the say, the next morning, their return had caused more than a little commotion: Imagine, a prince coming home dirty and tired! Legolas had tasted, however, the joys of life, and longed for more of the life that he had glimpsed.

The best thing about Vella was, he thought, the fact that she was so unique; so very unlady-like. All the other ladies of court bored him, what with their

tittering laughter and inane humour. Vella wasn't afraid to say what she thought, to say what everyone thought. True, at times, her mouth got her in deeper trouble than she intended, but then, what of all the times Vella had stood up for him against his rowdy cousins? Vella could cuss like the best of them and had even fought one or two, teaching Legolas that strength had very little to do with winning; it was all in the spirit. Whenever they were together, it wasn't a lady and her prince; rather, it was just Vella and Legolas. He didn't have to be courteous and valiant around her, finding lost needles and reciting poetry. He could be himself, Legolas. He could happy, sad, upset, arrogant, even cocky-though Vella always put him right in his place as soon as he crossed a line into irritating. And Vella was...well, Legolas never tried to describe Vella. He simply couldn't; the sheer range of her attributes surprised even him, who had known her since childhood.

"Tell me, lady who is not a Lady, what did you do to the Lady Helena to make her cry so? Whatever it was, you succeeded, she is still being treated for shock!"

Vella smiled, desptie herself. "I merely told her some truths of life outside of Mirwood."

"And you should know this, how?"

She gestured aroundt he room at the broken texts; Legolas looked up and noticed them all for the very first time.

"Great lord!" He leapt to his feet, staring at the wreckage around him. Vella stretched, glancing at the mantle clock that read that it was soon to be dinner. 

"The next round is going to begin soon; I'd suggest you take whatever you want to be saved." She said dryly. Legola looked at her, shaking his head and wondering at her calm. Nothing seemed to phase ol' Vell. even when she'd fallen out of the cherry trees and broken her arm in two places; she'd simply gritted her teeth and walked home. Sometimes, he admired her foolhardy bravado. Other times, he thought her plain crazy.

"So what cuased you and little Ava to fight? It's not everyday you tumble upon a match ring between sisters." Actually, Legolas thought wryly, it was almost everyday for these sisters. 

"Oh, you know. Little Avie being herself again. Her little stuck-up all-proper self." Vella thought for a moment, "You know, I don't think I like this phase of her growing up. Must be her terrible hundreds or something.."

"Maybe she thinks you're a little bit too wild."

"Me? Wild?" Vella's eyes widened in mock innocence. "Never." She said resolutely, sitting up to pose exaggeratedly as a prim lady. She fanned herself with one hand, the other on her forehead in a mock faint. "Oh Legolas, my prince Legolas, bring me that feather over there for it is too heavy for my dainty arm!" 

She pretended to swoon, while Legolas couldn't' help but laugh at her outrageous acting. 

"Legolas, sing me songs and poetry, for I am not to be bothered to be thinking! Oh Legolas, save me from walking in the sunlight for it will burn my porcelain skin!"

While Vella continued on her charade, Legolas leafed through the texts, as Ava had done earlier, and tucked the most valuable ones under his arm. Finally, Vella-whose acting had taken her around the room- collapsed in an exhausted heap onto her armchair. She blew a piece of dark hair that had straggled onto her face away and bit her lip.

"How many weeks of kitchen work do you think they'll give me for this one?" She asked, gesturing at the broken books. "After all, they were the ones that gave them to me; I suppose it's their fault really."

"This was supposed to be part of the punishment for Lady Halis' hair. Did you know that she must wear a bonnet wherever she goes now?" Legolas frowned, then grinned because it was funny despite the disapproval it had caused.

"You have to admit though," Vella said, "It was worth the look on that ol' hen's face when she awoke."

Legolas frowned even more deeply and advanced on Vella, who returned his glare, until they both were laughing again. 

"You're crazy, did you know that?"

"And you, fair Prince, are socializing with crazy elves like me, ruining your good name."

"Remind me not to. I must save my reputation, after all." He said dryly, turning away with his texts in his arms. She watched him leave with a smile on her lips.

"Legolas?" She called out, as he was about to close the door. 

"Hmm?"

"Stop by Avie's room on your way to dinner and see how she is for me?"

"Scarred for life, probably." He muttered, but nodded to Vella. 

The Royal Palace of Mirkwood housed the royal family as well as it's denizens. A labyrinth of winding staircases and levels, it was built among the trees that shrouded the elven power. Avaranthe and Vellesta's rooms were located in Lord Rivermoon's quarters, and Ava's room was right beside Vella's so it wasn't long before Legolas reached the closed door. He knocked gingerly twice before there was a response.

"Go away, Vell!"

He knocked again. 

"I said-"

He opened the door a crack and stepped in.

"Oh!" Ava cried. She had been lying on her stomach on her bed, the text open to a chapter on human fighting techniques. She had been so absorbed in the words and descriptions that she'd even forgotten about the terrible sister next door, if only for a time. At the sight of the prince, she leapt up and slammed the book shut. "Legolas!"

"Lady Avaranthe." 

Ava laughed darkly. "Hardly a lady with her," she nodded towards Vell's rooms, "in my family."

Legolas smiled sympathetically. At one time, years and years ago, when they had been but children, Ava had been as mischievous as Vella. Though now, it seemed that Ava had taken the road to lady-hood, leaving her older sister in the dust. And for that road, Ava was paying dearly. Not only did she suffer the rumors and gossip her sister generated, she was also looked down upon as connected with "the hell-bringer". 

"A lady nonetheless." Legolas smiled, making Ava flush with pleasure. "Shall I escort this lady to dinner?" He offered his arm.

"Of course!" Ava leapt up with child-like glee. It wasn't everyday Prince Legolas himself escorted a lady to dinner; ha, that would show those stuck up ladies at court, Ava thought haughtily, still stinging from the last time they had snubbed her. As they descended the stairs towards the dining hall, they heard the books, once again, being flung against the wall. 

Both were glad they'd gotten what they wanted before Vella had had the chance to finish them off.


	2. Crime and Punishment

Part 1 

Chapter 2 - Crime and Punishment

**

Ethuil

April 18 III 3017

Sometimes, I do hate Vella so much. At other times, I almost like her. She has been quiet for a week now; doing nothing to raise anyone's ill voice against her. Ever since the book incident (in which Father really did throw a fit and turn purple), she's been lying low. She's even taken to slinking around the palace in normal clothing and *gasp!* socializing with some of the lords. It makes one realize how beautiful and charming Vellesta can be when she wants to; the lords themselves were surprised at how...nice..she was. She may be docile at the moment, but I know my sister and I know she is planning something. That is the only reason she is ever quiet for an extended period of time.

There have been some odd coming and going's around the palace lately, people I don't recognize in the corners, watching and waiting. Frankly, it makes me nervous. I've been absorbed in the text I managed to slip away from Vella; it's call "A Brief History of Humans". I find it fascinating, though I would never say so out loud. Humans...what an interesting peoples. Their lives are so short, mere decades. And yet, you cannot help but wonder at their bravery and their valour; the honour and ceremony they hold most dear. A people forged in battle and honed in victory. Perhaps, one day, I shall meet a human. That shall be my goal, to travel to the lands far to the west of Mirkwood, past the mountains. They say that Elrond the Great himself is half-human.. 

Until then,

Avaranthe

**

King Thranduil faced his oldest friend and most trusted advisor, Lord Delanthor Rivermoon, and tried to keep a dark expression on his face. In truth, he would've much preferred laughter. Delanthor's two daughters, Vellesta and Avaranthe, were the current subject of discussion. 

"It's Vellesta that worries me." Delanthor said, his expression darkening even at the thought of his older daughter, whom so resembled his wife, Lady Lelanna, who had passed over the sea many many years before leaving him alone to raise two young daughters, not yet two hundred years of age. It was from the Lady Lelanna that Vellesta had inherited her dark midnight hair and her flashing green eyes; Avaranthe had acquired the lord's pale features, the white-blonde hair and pale grey eyes. "She..." He grimaced. "She thinks up ways to anger me, day and night, it is all that fills that silly head of hers."

"Are you so sure that that is all she ponders?"

"Of course!"

Thranduil stood, gazing at the walls of his study; various paintings of Elven lore and myth adorned the walls of the King of Mirkwood's private study. 

"Perhaps it is only attention that she seeks."

Delanthor snorted, then turned in his seat, his brooding gaze returning to the leaping flames of the fire in the hearth. Though it was early in the season of Ethuil, the nights were still cool and mornings crisp. Delanthor wondered what new means of mischief Vella would think up next; perhaps more terrorizing stories, perhaps more pranks. 

"She is old enough to know better!" He pounded the chair, suddenly gripped with an overwhelming anger and frustration. "I am at the end of my rope, I do not know what new punishment to deal out!" He turned to his friend and King. "Thranduil, I have triedd everything. From confinement to kitchen work; yes, I have resorted to forcing my own daughter to the servant quarters! She just...." His expression softened, "she just does not seem to care."

"Oh, I think she cares." Thranduil took a seat in front of the heart next to his friend. "I think it is her care that makes her act as she does; perhaps she cares too much."

"What do you mean, majesty? If she loved me, if she cared, she would not ruin the good name of our family as she does. She would not embarrass poor Avaranthe so; she would not!"

"Have you never thought, Delanthor, that perhaps Vella uses these antics as a mask? As a way of shielding herself from the pain and reality of our world? I have watched her in court; she speaks with the air of one who has complete confidence in oneself; flirting with the lords and courtiers with the wild abandonment of one who has none to gain."

Delanthor stared into the flames, trying to remember the last time he'd sat down with his daughter and spoken to her; actually spoken, rather than yelled. He couldn't' quite remember.

"You may be right, Thranduil. You may know my daughter better than I." Delanthor said wearily. Ever since his beloved Lelanna had died, time had slowed for the old elf. He had been alive for centuries; old enough to have seen more of this world than he actually wished; often times, he wondered what awaited him in the silver city of Valinor, across an ocean into bliss. It was those times of longing that made him sad; the only things left keeping him in Mirkwood was his two daughters. He would wait, he promised himself, he would wait until they settled, though lately, that hope was becoming smaller and smaller. Silence settled as both thought of old days and dreams, of past wars and fellowships. It was Thranduil that broke the heavy quiet.

"There is a darkness, looming at the edge of the horizon. I can feel it; not close, not yet, but it will come. Like the coming of a storm, it shall not pass easily. I fear for this darkness." He sighed, turning to face Delanthor. "The crown grows heavy on my head, old friend. And yet, Legolas is not ready to take up the throne; he is unwilling to give up his days of childhood and play."

It was unspoken that Vellesta had more than a little hand in his unwillingness, though both elves knew it to be true. 

"Legolas will make a fine king, someday. A fine king of Mirkwood, perhaps even driving Sauron's forces from our southern regions, for I know that has long been your desire." Delanthor faced his king with resolution. "He shall have my guidance and my support."

"Thank-you, old friend." Thranduil smiled, though the lines of worry did not dissipate.

Suddenly, there was a shriek and a loud rumbling, followed by laughter that sounded too familiar. Shouting followed, and then a loud silence. Delanthor glanced at Thranduil, who looked back, trying very hard to keep his face straight. Only one word was needed: Vella.

~

"I was only adjusting the pressure, honest Father. I did not mean for this to happen!" For once, Vella was telling the truth. Her voice rang shrilling amidst the tittering crowds that had gathered to gape at the mess that had be created by the notorious Vellesta Rivermoon. Vella glowered darkly at all who stood near.

She had been trying to fix the fountain just outside the main kitchen were the washing was done, as part of her punishment for the books and Lady Helena. She'd seen a stone lodged into the water pipe, and naturally, had thought it'd gotten stuck there and was the reason for the fountain's small trickle of water. In a desperate attempt to end her punishment and fix the damned fountain, she'd picked at the stone until it'd become dislodged. Unfortunately, with it's removal, there had come a great rumbling as the river, from which the elves drew their water, found its way finally clear and burst forth from the fountain, soaking the one who had been unfortunate enough to stand in it's might.

Now she stood in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by elven nobles, soaked from head to foot in river water. The stone, which had taken her most of the morning to dislodge, was once again, shoved back down the pipe. Around her, a foot of water sloshed its way slowly down towards the river bank. As soon as she saw her Father striding towards her, a dark scowl on his face, she knew that she'd be in for it this time. But surely, her rational mind argued, Father would understand that it was all an accident! That she couldn't help that the fountain didn't work; she hadn't known! 

Vella glared at some of the ladies who tittered and laughed, eyes pointing. Her scowl silenced a few, those smart enough to know what revenge from Vellesta Rivermoon would mean. She was soaked, tired and worst of all, blamed for something that was not her fault; Vella was in no mood for snot-nosed elven ladies laughing at her.

"Vellesta.." Father began.

"I did not do this! I was trying to adjust the water pressure to do the washing! Remember, you said I was to help with the washing? And so I took that basket," she pointed at the basket of soaking linens, "and I came out here and then.." 

"Vellesta.."

"Just listen to me Father, so I realized the fountain didn't work so I looked in and tried to turn up the knob that makes it flow faster, but that didn't' work either. So I looked in the pipe and noticed the stone.." 

"Vellesta Rivermoon!!" Delanthor shouted, silencing all in the courtyard, including Vella herself. He sighed, after capturing the attention of all and making her shut her flapping mouth. "Vellesta, first of all," He paused, eying her wet clothing and sopping dark hair that hung down in lank strands. Her eyes were huge and glistening, full of injustice and self-righteousness. She reminded him of a wounded animal he had once come upon in the heights of the Misty Mountains; wet, cold and hurt. It brought Thranduil's earlier words to mind. 

"First of all, you're wet. Go get changed into some dry clothes, then we'll talk about this." He said calmly, swallowing the words that had threatened to overflow; words that most likely would have caused more damage than good.

Vella's mouth fell open. Surprise etched itself into every feature; her extended arm about to describe to him how it wasn't her fault at all, fell to her side. Frankly, she'd been expecting a fit of yelling and the transition between several shades of purple, red and orange. 

"But Father-"

"Go change, Vella!" He yelled then, causing her to snap back to reality and slosh away quickly, leaving a slippery trail in her wake. She tried to ignore the sounds of laughter and gossip as she retreated. Thoroughly humiliated and embarrassed, Vella wrung portions of her hair dry along the way, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction at the drips that fell all over the marble floors; she hoped some unfortunate lady the pain of slipping on one of her puddles and falling into humiliation. Usually, it was the other way around with herself creating the humiliation and the other side feeling it's dreadful touch. Vella decided she hated this side of the coin. 

As soon as she entered her chambers, Avaranthe jumped out at her. Vella whirled around, then rolled her eyes after seeing who it was. Ava's eyes were huge, her lips wide in a disbelieving smile.

"What happened to you?" She asked, her voice rising incredulously. "Did you fall into a well or something?"

"Just go away." Vella snapped, in no mood to answer questions from pesky younger siblings. She peeled off her dress, then slipped quickly into a dry robe and tunic. Turning, she glanced at herself in the mirror then decided she'd rather not look. 

"You'd think that by the time you reached your eight hundredth year, you'd have learned how to keep from walking into rivers!" Ava said, laughing. When she was met with no laughter, she sobered immediately. Despite how much she hated Vella at times, Ava knew that Vella would forever be her older sister; her role model; and some part of Ava constantly wanted to please the older sister who seemed to know so much. "So...what happened?" She asked, perched on the edge of the chair, her long legs folded under her. 

"I said, I don't want to talk about it." Vella's voice glinted dangerously.

"Oh. Alright." Ava looked away, glancing around the room. She took it as a good sign that Vella hadn't kicked her out of the room yet. "It must've been pretty chilly."

Vella wrung out her hair, shaking out the great dark strands until hard pellets of water shot into the air and marked deep grey drips down the walls. Inside, she stung from the embarassment and humiliation; she could still hear the laughter and the mocking tone of those who'd watched. Not one had offered to help her in her distress: the price for a cold-heart.

"...I think if I fell in a well, I'd fare worse than you." Ava offered helpfully. Vella turned away, digging in her drawers for a circlet to hold up her long wet hair. 

"So..." Ava knew she was being the annoying sister, but she persisted. She had a feeling that Vella, though she acted (and probably was) annoyed, also didn't want her to leave. "Do you think Legolas would take me with him the next time he goes on a journey?"

At the sudden change of topic, Vella turned and studied her sister. Ava smiled, seeing the interest in Vella's eyes immediately, and knew that she'd caught the right fish at alst. 

"I don't know!" Vella snapped, "Go bother him about it."

After a silence, during which Ava contemplated the words, Vella added,

"..though I doubt it. His journey's are dangerous; he can't be expected to babysit a child along the way."

"I am not a child!" Ava cried indignantly, her pride hurt. She hated when Vella did that, referred to her as a child. Even Legolas often treated her like a toddler. She may have been younger, but she knew much more than either put together. She read books, after all; elven lore and history that Ava was pretty sure even the future of King of Mirkwood didn't bother with . With a pang, Ava remembered days, long ago, when they'd played together; games of hide-and-seek and adventure. Games with fairies, dragons and other mystical beings. As they'd grown, and Legolas had been expected to adhere to his princely duties, they no longer played games. Rather, Legolas would go to Vella and the two fo them would stalk off somewhere, doing god knows what and not taking her with them. The few times Ava had managed to latch along, she'd neither understood nor cared about the things they spoke off. Suddenly, it was no longer the three of them all the time, but rather, an exclusive club for two, and Ava didnt' like being the one excluded. Legolas was still nice, of course, smiling and talking to her. But he treated her like a child, and Ava had to wonder if he had always been like that and it was just now that she was noticing, or if he'd changed along the way for some reason.

"Fine, not a child." Vella said, soothingly after seeing the dark expression cross her sister's face. "Still, he wouldnt bring someone along who could hinder his missions."

"You know about his missions?" Ava asked, peering closer to see if Vella was making up stories again or if she really knew about the mysterious journeys that Legolas always made. Often times, Legolas would return, his eyes haunted and dark with memories that, no matter how much Ava tried, he would never speak of. Vella hesitated, knowing she should not say too much. Ava saw the hesitation and knew it for what it was. "You do know!" She exclaimed, leaping on her sister for more. 

Legolas' journeys and missions, set by his fater King Thranduil, had been one of the things that had ended their carefree summer days. Ava had always guessed that that was what the Prince and Vella often conversed about, but she was never sure. 

"I don't know anything." Vella glared at her sister, tieing up the last tendril of hair, then checking the mirror quickly. 

"You're lying."

"I'm not. You're being meddlesome."

"I am not! Puhleasse, Vell, he never tells me anything." Ava frowned, hurt despite herself. She'd long ago ridden herself of the jealousy that came with losing her playmates; in that moment, the hurt and sting of that long drawn jealousy pushed itself into her gentle heart. 

"That's because you're a child." Vella said caustically, then bit her lip as she saw Ava's hurt expression. More like felt, for the pain in the child emanated like waves of distress. In an unexpected show of sisterly love, Vella swooped down to her sister and pushed her over on the chair, sitting herself next to her. She sighed inwardly, trying to find kind words that would make Ava understand. Despite all of Ava's precocious words and grownup acting, she was still a child by elven standards, and nobody was more aware of this fact than Vellesta. 

"Avie," She paused, "what Prince Legolas does is not of our concern. He does what he must do for the kingdom, for all of Mirkwood."

Ava sniffed, playing off the guilt she knew she'd struck in her sister. 

"Legolas does not tell me everything he does." Vella added. True, she argued inside her heart, for he didn't. She would simply keep the rest to herself; not speaking, afterall, was not lying.

"So....he still cares for me?"

"Of course!" Vella nodded, "Of course Legolas still loves you."

A small smile tugged ont he corners of Ava's fair mouth. 

"I was afraid.." She trailed off and brushed the tears from her eyes. "He is too busy for me. First, he is too busy for games. And now, he is too busy for me."

"You know that's not true." Vella said, inside, she berated herself for going off with Legolas too often and leaving Ava all alone. "I promise we'll spend more time together; the three of us, like old days."

Ava beamed, smiling up at her brilliant, older sister. Vella stood abruptly, a sudden pain in her heart. She shook off the feelings of warmth and steeled herself for the scene in the courtyard.

"Now, I have a courtyard to clean and laundry to do."

"I'll help!" Ava offered, jumping up. 

"Fine by me." Vella said, smiling wanly as she led the way.

~

As they headed back towards the flooded courtyard, they were met with glances and smirking looks. Vella took note of every elf that mocked her and planned revenge, deadly and silently. As if sensing her growing agitation, Avaranthe clasped her sister's hand in her own, smiling supportively. Vella glanced, surprised, at Ava, then squeezed the offered hand. When they returned once more the courtyard, the water level had lowered significantly, though Ava had to skip around the courtyard to avoid wetting her slippers. Vella sloshed right in, standing in front of Lord Delanthor, meeting him with an icy gaze totally devoid of any sort of emotion. She would show no fear, even in the face of the enemy; not a hint of the turmoil and humiliation in her heart.

"I see you've changed into dry clothes."

"I have." She omitted the 'Father', knowing that addressing him without a title mean disrespect. Lord Delanthor grimaced but decided not to pursue. He studied Vella for a moment, his jaw clenching. Little ripples of tension run along his jawline; Vella stood firm, her gaze unwavering. All those still watching fell silent as the terrible battle of wills between father and daughter erupted in a fiery display of frustration, misunerstanding and anger. Finally, Lord Delanthor brushed past his daughter. The nobles parted in his wake, letting him through. After enough distance was put between them, he turned once more and glanced at Vella.

"You. Come." His eyes flickered to Ava, who watched on curiously. "You, go back to your rooms." 

"Father, I wish-"

"Go back to your chambers, Avaranthe."

Ava was unaccustomed to her father's anger; preferring instead to remain, forever-or at least as long as she could-daddy's little girl. Vella followed her

father's striding path, a good distance behind, until they at least reached the destination: his study. 

Once the door was closed, Vella had a sudden and terrible urge to escape. She hadn't been alone with her Father for so long, it seemed odd to be alone with him now; like being forced to stay with a stranger. A part of herself cried at this feeling that coursed through her, for once, long ago, she would've thrown herself in his arms and cried on his shoulder. Now, all she could do was hover near the door and expect the worst. 

"Oh for god's sakes, Vella, I'm not going to cut your ears off!" Father said loudly, making her jump inadvertently. "Sit." he commanded then, seeing that his initial comment did nothing to calm her. Vella sat down quickly, her fingers playing with themselves as she struggled to maintain an expression of total non-chalance.

Normally, while facing Father for something she had done purposely, she at least had the satisfaction of the deed done (ie. Lady Halis' hair). But now, while she sat in the chair, dejectedly picturing the next few weeks int he kitchen, there was no satisfaction of a lady's screaming wails, or a noble's righteous anger. Not even a bloody nose to make herself feel as if she'd won a little; this time, she'd lost. Completely. They sat there for what felt like an eternity for Vella, a hard thing to accomplish for the long-lived elves, until Vella broke and demanded punishment.

"Father, just punish me and get it over with..but, just let me go!" She demanded. Lord Delanthor grimaced, hiding a secret smile. He contined to go over his documents, slowly flipping through pages. Vella sat up, hoping to explain her case despite how futile she knew it would be.

"I didn't mean it, really, it just...it just popped right out! The stone, the plug, you see.." She trailed off, throwing her hands up. "I give up." She fell back, slumping in the chair and feeling a sudden childish urge to burst into tears. Though Vella often threw fits of temper and rage, she never cried; in fact, Vella couldn't remember crying, not the feeling nor the sensation of tears. Perhaps, she had been born without tears, without the ability to weep. 

The mintues ticked by.

The hours ticked by.

Vella counted the books on the shelves. Once, then twice. Then she began on the cieling tiles. Finally, Lord Delanthor pushed his documents aside and faced his daughter.

"You're free to go." He said. 

"What?" She straightened, not sure if she'd heard correctly.

"You're free to go..unless, of course, you want to stay here? I'm more than willing to have help in categorizing these texts, on second thought, perhaps.."

"Bye!" Vella was out the door faster than an elf could've drawn an arrow. Halfway down the hall, she heard the dreaded words.

"Hold on.."

She had to forcibly maker herself turn and stand in the doorway, awaiting what she knew to be the real punishment. Father was getting smart, she noticed, his punishments were getting clever. Employing not only kitchen work but also boredom to torture her and hope to kill her. 

"Yes, Father?"

He smiled, "I expect you back in the kitchens tomorrow." He raised an eye. 

"Of course." She nodded, hovering. Lord Delanthor raised his eyes expectantly. Finally, when it seemed she really would not understand, he said, 

"You may go."

Vella turned, quickly clearing the hallway until she was far enough away to sigh with relief. Kitchenwork, she could handle. 

Vella smiled to herself as, pondering the downfall of a certain noble. Hey, she thought to herself, since she was already being punshed, why not?


	3. Departure

Author's Note** Hope you like it so far!! Tell me what you think!!

  
  


Chapter 3 - Departure

  
  


"What do you mean you're leaving again? The Laer festival is but a few weeks away!" Vella couldn't help but wail. She was perched high in the trees, deep in the woods Mirkwood. In another nearby tree, Prince Legolas also sat lightly on a limb, balancing perfectly on the slender branches. To humans, dwarves, and other species not of wood-elf descent, they would have been but objects in the background, merging perfectly into their surrounding. Only with her trained eyes and elven sense, could Vella make out Legolas amongst the backdrop of lush greenery.

"There is a band of orcs to the south, they push Mirkwood's borders." Legolas answered, though his voice was heavy with disappointment as well. The month-long Laer Festival, which celebrated the joy of summer and life, was the one times he could shed his Princely duties and once more take up the joys of being young and carefree, running through the woods with wild abandonment as he once had. 

"And you have to go?" Vella demanded.

Legolas climbed higher in the tree, his gaze on the upper most branch that seemed, even to the Silvan elf, a far reach. Vella followed him, not too much farther behind, dressed in a boy's tunic and trousers, with her long hair bound out of her face. No one knew of her skills as a ranger, as a skilled hunter and tracker. Skills such as those were considered inappropriate for an elven lady to learn. They climbed quickly, jumping agilely from one branch to another until they were almost level to each other. Legolas glanced at Vella, surprised that she'd been able to keep up. He was the one who'd first taught her skills in tracking and hunting, first teaching her the use of a bow and of a dagger. 

"You're getting better." He commented, as he eyed the next branch higher. Vella smiled haughtily and didn't bother to mention that she'd spent nearly every afternoon, during his absences, climbing amongst the trees as a means of escaping the kitchen work her father had begun piling on her as punishments. 

"So are you." She replied tactfully. The comment made Legolas pause, turning to glance at Vella. He grinned, then clambered higher.

Above and beyond, the trees of Mirkwood forest rose like towers in the sky; a beautiful reminder of the elves and their ancient proud lore. Legolas reached the highest branch that would support his weight, then closed his eyes and breathed in the deep wild scent of nature around him. In part, he dreaded the journey that would take him deep into the heart of Sauron's darkness; but another part of him looked forward to the adventure. Life in the kingdom was interesting, at best, boring and dull, at worst. There was adventure out there, his elven senses could smell it.

A hand suddenly clapped his back. Startled, Legolas turned and found Vella next to him; only a trained wood elf would've been able to sneak up to him with such stealth and grace. Unbidden pride rose in him at the skill that Vella now possessed; the pride of a teacher to his student.

"As I was saying," She said, sitting down next to him, "must you, Prince, be the one to take up this endeavor? After all," She smiled slyly, "I'm sure there are ladies here in Mirkwood that would miss your presence during Laer."

Legolas raised an eye, wondering where she was going. 

"Any lady in particular?" 

"Perhaps one or two." Vella smiled, studying the green forest that stretched as far she could see and the shimmering band of river sparkling in the distance. 

"Only one or two?" Legolas frowned dubiously.

"One or two. Well, maybe three. Three, at most." 

"Only three. Hmm... Maybe it's not worth staying then." 

"Well, perhaps there's four." Vella amended, studying the elven prince beside her. Legolas glanced up towards the top branch, barely strong enough to support its own weight, and judged whether or not he'd make it. 

"I might stay for four." He said, standing up and surveying the surrounding area. "But I'm thinking about a certain lady. One worth all four."

"A particular lady, huh?" Vella swung her legs, her senses attune to the nature calling out around her, absorbing her into the green depths; a reverential journey through her senses. 

"Ungh." Legolas leapt from the branch he was on, to another on a nearby tree. He smiled, catching his balance, then turned to face Vella. "Do you think

she'd miss my presence?"

Vella, now with extra room on the branch, turned and placed her legs up in front of her, reclining easily against the tree. The prince was darting through the greenery now, jumping aimlessly from one branch to another, oblivious to the earth so far away below. Even her skilled elven eyes couldn't keep up, and soon, she stopped trying.

"Tell me of this lady." She murmured. 

"Well...she is tall. With dark hair, like nightfall." Legolas smiled, studying Vella who smiled up into the sunlight with her eyes closed, listening to the lilting quality of his voice. "With eyes so green as to be cruel; they say it is a sign of the witchery in her."

"So it is a beautiful lady." 

Legolas grinned, "Terribly ugly, I'm afraid."

Vella's eyes snapped open and she glared, starting back down the tree. Legolas laughed, jumping to a closer branch and quickly corrected himself.

"She is a little beautiful."

Vella sniffed, sitting up.

Legolas grinned, swinging back to her branch and taking a seat next to Vella. He caught a tendril of her floating hair and twirled it around his slender finger. "She has long dark hair; it gets caught on everything and becomes a bother." 

Vella shook out her hair, pulling away from the prince.

"I'm sure she has perfect hair."

"Perhaps." Legolas smiled, leaning against her shoulder. He rested his head lightly on her shoulder, his senses absorbing the stillness of the great forest around them. They sat like that for a while, the silent peace of the forest around them a soothing balm to the hectic flurries of everyday life. Suddenly, Vella sat up straight, causing Legolas to glance at her. She narrowed her eyes, scanning the deep woods around, then turned to the prince.

"There's someone down there." She whispered, her eyes wide. They were deep in the forest; there were few from the Palace that would venture out this far for no purpose. Legolas smiled, calmly swinging onto another branch. 

"'They've been trailing us for several hours now. The trees have them caught." He said easily, in a tone that he knew would infuriate her.

"Who?" Vella whispered furiously. "If it's Ava.." She said angrily, partly worried that her little sister should be wandering the woods alone. 

"It's not Avie." Legolas shook his head, cocking his head to one side. Vella did the same, then frowned.

"It's a human." Her eyes widened. "A man. What is a man doing in the forests of Mirkwood?" She demanded, for the glint in the Prince's eye told her all. 

"A man; a Ranger." Legolas paused, listening hard. "He's but a few paces away, he knows that there are two up here and that makes him wary."

Furious, Vella smacked Legolas, hard, in the shoulder.

"Ouch!" He said, grabbing his arm. He realized, once again, how freakishly strong Vella was, for an elven woman. "What?!"

"You knew about him?!" Her voice rose dangerously; a warning in her tone that the nobles of Thranduil's court had learned to recognize and fear. Legolas shrugged, then disappeared. To her sharp ears, she could hear him racing down the tree to greet the human. "Stupid prince." She muttered, concealing herself into the trees so that even Legolas would have trouble spotting her.

Legolas alighted onto solid ground, the familiar pang of regret at leaving his spot among the trees in his heart, and hid quietly behind a narrow tree. He watched Aragorn Ellesar, son of Arathorn and future king of Gondor, tense and ready his sword. Legolas watched his friend and companion with a slight smile on his face, happy to see him. Aragorn had proven himself to be a loyal comrade and a good friend on more than one occasion, a good sword to accent his bow. This was not the first trip they would make into the depths of Mirkwood hunting the unknown creatures that lurked within. Above him, Legolas could feel, if not see, Vella watching and waiting, furious yet inquisitive. Sometimes, he regretted having taught her all he knew from his journeys. 

Aragorn whirled around, just as Legolas stepped out from behind the try to make himself seen. Aragorn flushed, feeling the slight annoyance he always felt each time the elf appeared, as if from thin air. It was unnatural; and yet he knew that for the wood-elves, it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Legolas," Aragorn tried to keep a stern expression. "I could've impaled you upon my sword." 

The prince laughed, his grey eyes twinkling with merriment.

"Just as quickly as I could've been above your head." He retorted, gesturing above to the trees that loomed over them both. They grasped hands, and smiled; old friends reunited. 

"What's this I hear about orcs in the south? And what of hearing this news from an inn-keeper, near the foothills of the Misty Mountains!" Aragorn asked, his eyes reproachful. Legolas nodded,

"Yes, you came just in time for some orc-hunting. As usual my friend. I did not feel it my right to bother you with more orcs." Legolas said, somewhat apologetically.

"I'm always up for some orc." Aragorn grinned, then frowned again, his eyes rising to the trees above. He shook his head, then turned back to the prince, "I look forward to traveling with you again, Legolas. It has been many months since we last parted."

"It has been long for you, Aragorn, but mere moments for me." Legolas leaned against a tree, feelings it's trembling roots in his blood. "It shall be good to get out once more.." He trailed off as a shower of leaves and twigs came raining down, a reminder from Vella that she cared not to be forgotten.

Aragorn jumped back, his sword drawn. 

Legolas rolled his eyes, then peered into the treetops, catching glimpses of Vella between he trees. 

"Come down from there, for godsake, Vell!" He said, following her path with his eyes. Aragorn's mouth opened in amazement, for it was rare that he visited Legolas and saw him with an elven companion. 

"I thought I there were two, but I was interrupted-"

Aragorn himself was interrupted by another shower of leaves and twigs. 

"Who is that?" He inquired, trying hard to catch a glimpse of the elf that had so skillfully escaped his detection. It was obviously a wood-elf, for no other creature would've been able to escape the senses of the keen Ranger. 

"She is being difficult." Legolas explained, knowing that bringing her to anger was the best way to flush out a wood-elf, especially one name Vellesta. 

"She?" Aragorn gaped, looking pointedly at Legolas. "I did not know you up and found a mate. You should've told me so, I would not have come traipsing through ruining the marital bliss." 

The elf blushed livid, lost for words. 

"We are not mated." Vella said, indignantly, alighting on a branch just above their heads to shoot another angry glare in the prince's direction. "In fact, I do not even recall knowing him." Her eyes sparked with anger at how Legolas was treating her. 

Aragorn caught his breath, and for a moment, he could've sworn that it was his beloved Arwen Evenstar of Rivendell that perched on the tree above him. It was the same brilliant sparkling eyes, filled with courage and spirit that stared down at him; the same raven dark hair shimmered like nightfall. Not only did she resemble his beloved, but there was also a spirit in her that he loved in Arwen. 

"Lady." He paused, breathless, when her eyes alighted on him. In their great green depths was a great spirit and an even greater courage. "May I have your name?"

"No you may not have my name." Vella snapped, still absorbed in her anger at the prince. Legolas turned to Aragorn and murmured,

"Vellesta. Lady Vellesta Rivermoon. She is Lord Delanthor's eldest."

"Ahh." Aragorn said, several pieces of the puzzle piecing themselves together. "Ohhhh." He breathed, suddenly realizing who the elf that perched above him was. He'd heard rumors, as far as Rivendell, about her wildness. "Hell-bringer", they called her, and so far, Aragorn didn't doubt it. 

"Did you know, lady, that you are quite famous?" He called up to her. Vella leaned against the beech, feeling its pulse, and glanced down, seeing the Ranger for the first time. She studied him; he had the bold dark features common to humans, with lank dark shoulder length hair and piercing blue eyes. Vella felt the Ranger's power, the strength and force he wielded. For a moment, she was seized with an unknown jealousy. Legolas spoke often of this Ranger when he told her of his adventures far from the Palace; and now to see the prince so obviously eager to set out on yet another Journey with the human, it made Vella long to lash out against him, against anyone.

"Famous. How?" She asked, her interested piqued.

"The lady Vellesta, 'hell-bringer'." He'd heard the name uttered from a certain Lady Eleandor, who, supposedly, had a cousin who knew a lady who'd had her poor head of hair chopped off by a monster by the name of Vellesta Rivermoon. Aragorn found it rather amusing to see the lady herself, perched over his head, in tunic and trousers. He found her reaction even more amusing. 

As soon as she heard her 'nickname', Vella burst out laughing. She had the tinkling, lyrical laughter of elves; the sound of running water and gurgling brooks. 

"And from whom did you hear that?" She inquired, casting another dark look at Legolas, who shrugged innocently.

"A lady whose cousin knew of the traumatic experiences of a certain Lady Halis. I'm sure you know of what I speak."

"Hmph." She turned away, nose in the air, then grinned. "You should have seen her face, Ranger, the morning after! It was worth ever minute spent in the kitchen."

"And I suppose you would not care if the deed was turned on its master?"

"I would not care." Vella said, defiantly. With her dark hair bound back and her deep green eyes sparkling with anger and amusement, Aragorn felt another pang of longing to be near his beautiful Arwen. 

The long casting shadows of the trees set aflame by the setting sun reminded all that it was getting dark. The wood afterdark became a strange place, even for a wood-elf; sounds and noises not normally heard through the day echoed through the night. 

"Shall we return?" Aragorn turned to Legolas, who nodded swiftly, then turned to glance at Vella only to find her disappeared among the trees once more.

They walked slowly, hearing only the soft crunching of grass and dirt under Aragorn's boots. Legolas moved silently and swiftly, his deft footstep hardly settling in the ground. After a distance, Aragorn slowed and glanced backward.

"Is it safe for the elf-maid to stay out after dark?" He asked the prince. Legolas laughed, imagining a horde of orcs accidentally stumbling upon an unsuspecting Vellesta. He felt sorry for the orcs. 

"She can take care of herself." 

High in the treetops, Vella, who had been following far enough away to keep the Ranger unawares, beamed at this comment made by the elven Prince. She almost felt ready to forgive Legolas for his earlier deceptions. She paused for a moment, thinking that she really just might miss the ol' boy after all. She hurried ahead seeing that they'd gotten farther. 

"...I was her teacher, she learned everything from me." Legolas was saying. "I must say though, she is a little impetuous.. hot-headed I should say. It affects her aim, her balance." Vella frowned, erasing her earlier thoughts; her aim and balance were perfectly fine. Legolas contined, "...and she is a woman, her strength cannot match that of a warrior, like you and I." Vella clenched her fists, glancing around for a twig in which to snap in half on the Prince's arrogant head.

"Easy on the girl, Legolas!" Aragorn laughed, shaking his head.

"You know, Aragorn, that I have only her best interests at heart. I am, after all, her mentor." Vella rolled her eyes. " A little more sugar on that persona wouldn't do ill for her, don't you think?"

Vella clenched her teeth, only the thought that Mirkwood needed it's prince kept her from leaping down on him unawares. She stopped, letting the two ahead of her gain distance, while she clambored higher to vent her anger. 

Below, Legolas smirked, knowing that Vella had heard every word he'd uttered.

**

Ethuil

May 15 III 3017

Prince Legolas has left with the Ranger at his side; the situation in the South grows dire as orcs overrun the forests, burning and looting. Straggles of refuges come to the Palace, some are wounded, other are haunted by what they have seen. 

For some reason, Vella was furious at Legolas and refused to see him off. She stayed in her rooms, though I could tell, afterward, that she regretted it for she told me that he "was the best shot in all of Mirkwood". I could tell Legolas was surprised and hurt that Vell didn't see him off too, for when I hugged him and bade him good journey, he asked me if Vella was alright. He seemed to expect it though; I have never understood the Prince's moods.

The Ranger....How can I not write about the Ranger? As graceful and beautiful as he is dark and wild; he is unlike any human I have ever imagined. In dreams, he is part elven, a long-lost heir to a lost kingdom. His dark features and piercing gaze are frightening to behold, yet when he smiled at me, I felt his charm and nobility. Legolas says he is a king, a king that has yet to calim his rightful throne. I doubt the verility of these claims, but who am I to know of the world of humans? My first taste of that world was in this Ranger, needless to say, I was not disappointed. 

When he left, the Ranger remembered my name and I gave him a hug as I had given to Legolas. I felt compelled to; a part of me felt sorry for the man, alone amongst so many elves, with no one bidding Good Journey to him. I only hope to meet him again in this world.

The days pass slowly without Prince Legolas to lighten the mood. Vella is in a dark mood indeed and won't allow me entrance to her chambers. At least she has not resorted to any new mischief. Father is absorbed in his Councils and that leaves me alone to wander through the trees and delve ever deeper into my books on the world outside of the Palace, outside of Mirkwood. 

The Laer Festival, in two weeks, should lighten the dank mood that has settled, it seems, over all of the Forest. Even the trees seem sorrowful, as if awaiting the coming of a darkness so great, even their might can not withstand. 

Until then,

Avaranthe

**


	4. Good Journeys

Chapter 4 - Good Journeys 

"Nothing like orc to ruin one's appetite." Prince Legolas of Mirkwood said, smirking as he pulled arrows from the bodies of the dead orcs that littered the ground. Aragorn Ellesar, heir to the throne of Gondor, smiled grimly, cleaning his sword of the orcish blood that tainted it's silver gleam. 

"There may be more around, Legolas, tell your men to be wary." Aragorn spoke in human tongue, and directed the statement towards the prince. Legolas glanced once at his band of elvish archers, then shook his head.

"We could smell an orc from Mordor itself; no," he shook his head resolutely. "There are no orcs for miles."

Aragorn shrugged, still tense and ready on the alert. They'd been traveling for three weeks, going ever deeper into the Southern regions of Mirkwood, drawing closer to the darkness that surrounded the fortress of Dol Guldur, the resting place of Sauron's evil. Though they'd run into slight resistance, as was the example on the ground laying in front of them, they'd found no clue of the ruthless and powerful band of orcs that had been ravaging the forest. Despite the calm of the elves, which usually meant peace for the time being, Aragorn felt a chill run up and down his back. Who knew what dark and terrible foes lay in the deep reaches of Mirkwood; even the elves, in all their love of the forest, could not know all the secrets the Great Forest held in keep.

Legolas pulled the last of the arrows he could salvage and then turned, finding one of his archers awaiting him.

"It is clear, your Highness. The Forest Road lies but a few leagues away" The scout and archer, Gilthalas reported, his eyes dark and brooding. Legolas nodded, a grim unsettling feeling in the pit of his heart. He placed one hand on the shoulder of his comrade and nodded,

"We shall move out. I know you worry, Gilthalas, for there is something foul in the air." Gilthalas nodded slightly, a wry smile on his face. He had never been able to hide his thoughts from his liege, his Prince. Legolas continued, "But if we cannot fight it with arrows and swords then at least we will outdistance it."

Gilthalas acquiesced silently, swiftly returning to the band of elves that had accompanied them. Legolas turned to Aragorn.

"Let's go, perhaps we can reach the Forest road by nightfall; there is cover near there. It is a good spot to rest for the night."

Aragorn nodded, setting off. 

Their band of skilled warriors included Gilthalas, another scout named Felowin who was keen of ear and sharp of sight, and two deadly archers, Vaolin and Quirathus. They had journeyed together many times; the band of elven warriors with their prince to lead them and the human to bring up their tail, were not easily matched in skill and courage. The pace they set was fast, the elves a blur of motion through the dense trees and the Ranger light of step a pace behind, quickened by muscle and training. By nightfall, they had reached the northern edge of the Forest Road that cut through the woods of Mirkwood to the plains on the other side. They halted before crossing, Felowin far ahead scouting out the area. 

"There is an orc ahead; he may have strayed from the earlier group. He is no danger." Felowin reported back, his light head visible only by the bright blue of his eyes. He stood over the band, balancing nimbly among the branches, a murky collage of expressions. "I say we press on, it is not far to a clearing on the other side of the road."

"The road will give us away." Vaolin objected, his voice a high baritone, as he stepped forward towards his Prince. He wore his pale hair close to his head, the long pale strands tied back with a leather thong. In his hand, he gripped the beechwood bow handed down to him from many generations of warriors in his family. "It is wide and who know what creatures traverse these areas in the dark hours of the night."

Legolas turned back to Felowin. 

"The road is clear; 'tis a dark night, there would be few to notice, even fewer to threaten us." The scout argued. Aragorn squinted in the pending darkness. 

"Let us press on, what travelers there are may be but harmless hobbits. I look forward to a good camp fire this night." He said.

"This road marks the border between the darkness of Dol Guldor and our forests; we know not what goes on within those depths!" Vaolin insisted again, turning to his prince for backup. Legolas regarded the road thoughtfully, then glanced at Aragorn. The human nodded once, then Legolas replied.

"Let us make for the other side, it shall pass more quickly in the dark of night. Anyways," Legolas smiled thinly at Aragorn, much to the archer's consternation. "I too look forward to a good fire this night; the more distance we cover, the faster we shall find this band of orcs that terrorizes our people."

The other elves nodded, while Vaolin clenched his fists and glanced darkly at the human. It wasn't that the elf didn't like the Ranger; not exactly, for Vaolin, who'd at first been mistrustful of the dark Ranger, now regarded the human with a certain amount of respect and awe, if distance as well. It was only the times that Prince Legolas sided with the Ranger that made Vaolin furious; times such as now. It wasn't right, Vaolin thought, that the Prince of Elves should side with a human. A stealthy, skillful human, no doubt, but a human none the less. 

As they set out, Vaolin lagged behind, his jaw locked in a grimace of held-back anger. That the prince had chosen the human over one of his own kind had stung, but that Legolas seemed to hold the Ranger in such high-esteem made Vaolin shake with jealousy and anger. What right did a human have of befriending an elven prince? And the boldness of Legolas, to favor a human over one of his own kind; even a human of noble birth! 

Upon reaching the sparse undergrowth near the roadside, the elves readied their bows, prepare to launch a deadly-aimed arrow in the direction of whatever poor creature happened to wander the wrong way at the wrong second. Aragorn gripped his sword tightly, the metal glinting in the dim moonlight that filtered in through the crack of trees made by the road. Felowin and Gilthalas, far ahead, had made their way across quickly, disappearing into the darkness on the other side. Legolas glanced down the road, seeing dark shapes advancing. 

"Hold." He said, his voice carried to the elven ears of his archers through the roots of the trees adn the petals of the flowers. "Something approaches."

"It is foul, indeed." Quirathus, an older more-experienced elf murmured. His eyes were closed, feeling the forest in his blood and reaching out to ask the trees if friend or foe approached. The peaceful, serene expression and pale, smooth skin of his face portrayed a youthfulness that masked the centuries that Quirathus Leviran had lived. In many ways, Quirathus had been Legolas' teacher and mentor; a skilled warrior in both the bow and the sword, he was invaluable to the band of warriors.

A hush had fallen over the entire forest, causing the animals to hide and the usually spirited forests of Mirkwood to grow dim with fear and anticipation. The usually stalwart and joyous elves were somber and grave; Aragorn felt the approaching spirits and knew the rumors that he'd heard, but dared not believe, to be true. 

"Nazgul." The Ranger breathed, his eyes slits in the brightness of the night. "Two of them." Turning, he pulled Legolas beside him. "We must go, Legolas" He said, "We cannot fight the undead."

"Speak only of yourself!" Vaolin lashed out, his elven pride wounded. "My bow will end the lives of whatever comes ourway, no matter how great the danger."

Aragorn's eyes flashed, 

"Your bow will do little, Vaolin Uraleth. The Nazgul are immortal, they are the undead who inhabit the fortress at Dol Guldur."

The pale elf glowered, his dark eyes, an unusual deep hazel, smoldered with anger and hate.

"What do you say, Quirathus?" Legolas turned to the older elf, who was watching the distance as the two cloaked riders drew ever closer. They had the advantage for the time, being uphill to the dark beings.

Suddenly, an ear-piercing unhuman shriek sounded out over the still night air, making blood freeze and sending chills through even the stoutest of hearts. 

"They know we are here," Aragorn said, his voice touched with urgency. "Legolas, we cannot fight them." 

Vaolin frowned angrily, his bow itching to be of use. Legolas turned to the Ranger.

"We shall go up." They glanced at each other for a moment, unheard words passing between the human and the elf. 

"But-" Vaolin began, but was silenced by a cutting glare from both Quirathus and Legolas. Scowling, he followed suit as Legolas scrambled up a tree and disappeared into the foliage.

Another screeching wail of inhuman torment tore through the air and the very forest trembled at its roots. The elves shuddered, feeling their beloved trees bending and swaying before the horror that approached. Men, the Nazgul had once been. Men who had loved and learned, men who had once fought for the good and justice of mankind. The Nazgul were supposed to be a myth, a dark tale told by fathers to sons. Legolas crouched near the base, his bow ready to fire rapid death to whomever came to close, undead or not. 

"What of our brothers?" Vaolin whispered, his eyes searching the farside in hopes of a glimpse of either Felowin or Gilthalas.

"They will find cover, hopefully." Legolas said, the fear in his eyes betraying the hope he held in his voice. Vaolin scanned the ground, then noticed the Ranger hidden behind a thick patch of underbrush, his sword drawn and ready. A surge of annoyance washed over him.

"Does he think to defend us!?" Vaolin exclaimed, indignity marring his fair features. "I shall not-"

"Vaolin," Legolas snapped, tired off the childish behavior his friend and comrade was displaying, "He cannot," then paused to correct himself, "-will not, climb our trees."

Vaolin scoffed, turning away as another shriek peirced the air. Closer this time, it made the hair on the back of his neck stiffen and crawl as if alive. He shuddered despite himself, though he did not belive that whatever darkness came their way could possibly be the legendary Nazgul. Legolas crept slowly forward, parting the foliage that hid him, his balance unwavering as he peered into the distance. Suddenly, a scream tore the air, this time right upon them!

Thundering hooves roared past, raising a hellish trail of blue-black dust in their path. The forest quaked under the evil that surrounded and drowned, and the very trees themselves groaned under the pain. For a moment, Legolas grasped his head, his breath coming in short gasps. What sort of new evil is this, he thought, that lurks in the depths of Mirkwood? All was silent for a moment, as the Prince crouched deeper into the tree, blending into it's darkness and becoming one. He feared for the Ranger, though he knew Aragorn was more than capable to take care of himself. Aragorn was on the ground, vulnerable to the hellish monsters that had vanished. Then, another spine-chilling bellow tore the air, and the roar of thundering hooves passing them as the metal-clad mounts of the Nazgul bore their masters away into the night.

It seemed an eterntiy as they waited, trying to discern nightmare from reality. Aragorn, hidden deep into the underbrush not five yards from where the Nazgul had passed, let out a breath. The Nazgul....he'd heard only of their evil existence through tales and myths, legends really. To see two of the evil beings, the undead souls of past kings of men, deep in the forests of Mirkwood made him shiver involuntarily. It took much to make the hardened heart of the Ranger quake, and yet the Nazgul made him shrink in fear and terror. Aragorn stood, his legs shaky, then whirled around, his sword ready, as the elves appeared. It never ceased to surprise and irritate him, their silent stealth and movement. 

"We must find Felowin and Gilthalas. They are awaiting us; we have surely worried them." Quirathus said, starting forward. 

"What were those things?!" Vaolin exclaimed, the chilling screams still echoing in his ears. "They are surely not of this world."

"Not of this world indeed." Aragorn said grimly. "For they are the Nazgul-"

"The Nazgul are fairytales, legends." Vaolin interrupted, his eyes flashing. "Stories to be told and passed on from father to son. You dream and imagine, Ranger, for no dead beings inhabit the forests of proud Mirkwood."

"Believe it, Vaolin. For it is true enough." Aragorn retorted. Legolas stepped in, seeing a flame about to ignite into a fire before him. 

"Come, friends, for we have brothers who await us."

Casting another heated glance at the Ranger, Vaolin turned, following his Prince across the road and into the forests of evil on the other side. He purposefully kept his pace one step faster than that of the Ranger's, knowing full well that elves had the upper hand when it came to endurance, if not strength.

They set off, gingery crossing the dirt path about ten feet wide, then striding more confidently into the dense forest. The wood elves felt an instant reassurance upon entering the dense forest once more. Legolas concentrated on the fast pace that had been set by Quirathus, trying to forget the unearthly feeling of death that had come over the entire forest. The night no longer held jovial stories by the fire, nor deep calming sleeps of rest. Rather, he would be up late into the night, pondering the new monsters that endangered his beloved realm. 

Suddenly, Quirathus stopped. Ahead of the rest, he turned slowly, his eyes wide. The woods were silent, an eerie calm dropping down like a curtain that covered the breath. The dead had crept into the air once more. The older elf breathed hard, feeling the very air he inhaled stagnating and growing thick with evil and darkness.

"Run!" He shouted, turning and disappearing into the darkness ahead. The shrieks of the undead echoed through the forest, drawing closer and closer, until it was almost upon them. Splintering hooves tore up the flora, and with each step, Legolas trembled with the pain of the trees around him. The elves moved swiftly, dodging the trees like lightning; a blur of motion. Aragorn stayed behind, his sword drawn, his dark eyes roving, searching, ever wary of the directions from which the hellish wails came. Legolas reached for his bow, his pale hair trailing behind him. The unearthly cries were soon upon them, and the Nazgul, upon their dark mounts, shrieked their war cry. Aragorn turned, raising his sword just in time to parry a deep thrust of the immortal blade; the blade that meant death to all it encountered. The ring of metal between Aragorn's sword and the Nazgul's blades sounded out through the forest, a cry of terror and sharp, cold steel. Legolas and Vaolin both turned, and in rapid succession, fired two deadly arrows at the second dead being that was approaching from the left. 

Struck, it screamed, it's horse towering on it's hind legs, illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through the trees. Aragorn fended off the blows from the sword, careful not to be touched by the death-metal. The hooded rider hissed angrily, screaming in pain as another elven arrow found their mark.

"Go! Go!" The Ranger shouted, turning quickly and sprinting ahead. Seeing the two creatures stalled for the moment, Legolas and Vaolin gripped their bows tightly and resumed their run. Vaolin turned once more, seeing one of the riders gaining one them once more, and shot two more death-blows, before fleeing between the trees.

They ran, as if unspent, until they reached a clearing deep in the forests. The trees were so dense, the moonlight was filtered out and left them in thick darkness. If not for their elven sight, the elves would've been lost. Aragorn, his eyes trained by need and by skill, had to squint harshly into the murky darkness. Quirathus stopped first, scanning the area, before turning to Legolas.

"Shall we stop here, majesty? We have long lost the evil that was on our trail."

Inside, the Legolas dared not stop, his heart still beating from the encounter witht he unearthly being before. He was sure that their arrows had not killed, simply stalling the dark riders. However, he could see the fatigue in the eyes of his fellow warriors, and even he couldn't deny the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him.

"Yes. Yes, we shall camp here tonight and await our brothers." The Prince's voice upheld the confidence that he hardly felt; that Felowin and Gilthalas would follow their trail and rejoin them in the morning. 

They set out camp, but dared not build a fire lest it attract the less wanted creatures that inhabited the wood. 

"I shall take first watch." Quirathus offered. 

"And I second." Vaolin stepped in. Legolas shook his head, knowing that his fellows hoped to lure him to bed then cover his watch; the elves protected the Prince of Mirkwood first and foremost, even to the point of taking over his watches and doling out extra rations. Though touched, Legolas rarely allowed these favors to pass. 

"I shall take first watch, my brother." He said, "Then, you Quirathus." He smiled warmly at his mentor and friend. Quirathus looked uncertain for a moment, wanting to press on but too tired to do so. Finally, he relented and dropped down into a soft bed of moss and curled up in his cloak, asleep quickly. Soon, the small clearing was quiet, the two elves fast asleep, though they're open eyes betrayed the slumber that held them in thrall. Aragorn was nowhere to be found, but then it wasn't strange for him to have gone off on his own, most likely scouting out the area. 

Legolas settled down on an outcropping rock, wrapped in his warm light cloak, and peered into the dark night sky trying to see which stars were out that night. The trees obscured the view, but if he strained his elven sight, he could barely make out a few twinkling gems amidst the velveteen nightdrop. Thinking back to childhood days, an unbidden memory of Vellesta telling him an outrageous story of stars and a horse that could fly, made him smile. Of course it would be Vella, his green-eyed muse, that would be the only thing to make him smile on this dark night. 

He was startled from hie reverie by a sound in the bushes. He turned, one hand on his bow, when Aragorn emerged, something in his hands. 

"Aragorn." Legolas said, wondering what he had been doing. "Should you not be asleep? Even the elven endurance has been tested this night."

"Yes." The Ranger smiled slightly glancing at the sleeping elves, "I see. I just went to scout out the area; I found something." Aragorn crossed the clearing and sat next to the elf on the rock, holding out what he had found. 

"Blueberries!" Legolas exclaimed, surprised. "I did not know blueberries were in season."

"Neither did I." Aragorn smiled thinly, "I found them small in number near a pond over there." He pointed. "I took as much as I could. It certainly beats the meal we would've had, I'm sure."

"It does, Aragorn, it does." Legolas said, smiling. 

They sat for a while, finishing the blueberries then staring into the night sky. The Ranger noticed the agitated air that followed the usual mild-mannered elf and wondered if it had to do with the meeting of the Nazgul. 

"It is the undead that bother you, is it not?" 

The Prince stared into the darkness, his grey eyes troubled.

"The Nazgul have returned. My father once spoke of them; the right hand of Sauron, the Lord of Darkness. Their return does not bode well for Mirkwood."

"It does not bode well for all of Middle-earth." 

Legolas nodded, wondering if the restlessness he'd been feeling for months was unfolding as they spoke. 

"I feel there is something to happen, something to change very soon." Legolas laughed softly, a lyrical beautiful sound, out of place in the dark murky woods. "Perhaps it is only the throne that tightens it's hold on my neck."

"Is Thranduil to pass on soon?" Aragorn inquired.

"No, no." The Prince shook his head, his expression wry. "Not yet, and hopefully, never." He sighed, smiling at his friend. "If only to be but a prince forever. I should certainly enjoy that notion; you feel this also, my friend." Legolas said, studying the Ranger's hooded eyes. 

"Right, again." Aragorn said, thinking of his own throne awaiting him and the great pressure it built in his heart. Part of the reason why he craved adventure so much was for the burden it took off his shoulders; despite the glory it came with, the crown of Gondor was a heavy load to carry alone.

"But Mirkwood needs it's Prince, Legolas, no matter how much we try and run." 

"Ahh..too true. And does Gondor not need it's King?" The elf retorted, grinning. Aragorn stretched, the aches in his bones prominent, his dark hair hiding his mysterious eyes.

"And yet, we shall run for now, is that not right, Legolas?"

"We shall run for as long as we can." The elven prince said softly, his eyes traveling to the gilded emblem of Mirkwood carved onto his dagger. 

"Tell me, Aragorn, how you know of these fearsome spirits called the Nazgul. I, in all my years, have never seen one; nor believed they truly existed outside of myth and child's stories." Legolas asked, intently studying the Ranger.

The Ranger smiled grimly.

"I did not believe it myself until this night. Dark-clad Riders of the Night, as they were described by Isildur in the years passing the War of the Last Alliance. Great kings of men, usurped and twisted, into blind servants of evil. I had thought their presence had left Middle-Earth after the defeat of thier dark master, Sauron."

"As did I." Legolas murmured, remembering the tales his father had told him as a child. The elven prince shivered, drawing his cloak tightly around him. He knew there would be little sleep this night, for his mind was troubled and filled with dark images. Inside, a heart of iron shivered at the thought of the Nazgul riding towards the Palace, towards the people whom he loved and cared for. He imagined his father, brave and strong, succumbing to the mind-wrenching pain of the Nazgul; the sweet-smelling beech trees fallen and burned; Vella led away in chains, her beautiful spirit diminished; Ava in tears, her pale eyes glistening with hopelessness; his kingdom in ruins. "An enemy arises that has armies full of these foul beasts. Aragorn, we cannot let them reach the Forests; we must protect the Palace."

"And we shall, we shall fight for those we love and all that we know." Aragorn said soothingly, seeing the wild dark look overcoming the prince. "It shall take more than two to shake the Elven pride and dash the might of Gondor."

"Perhaps.." Legolas murmured, unconvinced. 

The two companions settled in for the night, too restless for sleep, too tired for speech. The dark night enveloped them, each wrapped in his own thoughts of the future. In the deep, clear period before dawn, Legolas stood, stretching, then gazed up into the grey sky and suddenly longed to be home once more. He longed to be in the trees, laughing and joking, to be in his court, surrounded by the nobility of the elves. Then he glanced at his bow and he gritted his teeth, feeling the call of the forest to him. This was where he belonged, on the road; far from the destiny that awaited him.

The band of warriors woke early, just as the sun arose. Vaolin shook the sleep off harsly, half-angry at the prince to have taken over his watch. Breakfast was a sullen, solemn affair, frought with worry the elves felt for their missing brothers, and the growing animosity between Vaolin and the Ranger. 

"Shall we move out, Prince Legolas?" Quirathus inquired, shouldering his bow. Legolas scanned the trees, hoping against hope for some sign of either Felowin or Gilthalas. Inside, he longed to call out to his brothers, yet he dared not lest more of the Nazgul be attracted to them.

"We must keep moving." Aragorn said, bending down to shoulder his pack. "The scout and the ranger will have found our trail; they will catch up with us as we move."

"And what do you know of this?" Vaolin snapped, his own worry clouding his rationale. He gripped his bow tightly, his almond eyes narrow. "What do you know of either Felowin or Gilthalas? Are you so ready to abandon them, to leave them in the clutches of evil?"

"I know that if we do not keep moving, the Nazgul will find us once more."

"Us or them, is that what it is?" Vaolin demanded. 

"It is what you make it to be, elf." The Ranger snapped. Vaolin's dark eyes sparked with anger. The tension stretched until it was sure to explode in a fiery battle of wills. Finally, Legolas stepped between his brother and his friend. 

"Stop this bickering." Legolas commanded, his voice deep and full in the early morning silence. "Aragorn, you are better than this. Vaolin, listen to yourself." The Prince looked at the elf, forcing the tempestuous archer to meet his cool-grey gaze. "Let's move out, Felowin and Gilthalas will find us. If not, we shall split this night and look for them ourselves."

"But majesty-" Vaolin objected. One look from the steely grey eyes silenced him. 

One by one, the weary ominous group set out in the grey dawn, the glistening petals of dew the only marking of their presence. And if the brave Prince of Mirkwood felt any misgivings, his cool placid gaze dared not give it away.


	5. Laer

Chapter 5 - Laer

**

Laer

June 23 III 3017

It is Laer! It is Festival! 

And even Vella's dark moods and Father's long absences cannot put a damper on the laughter and joy that ring throughout the Palace! The flowers blossom upon the sloping hills and the trees sing with their deep content; the animals care for their young, and the baby creatures venture out among the world for the very first time. Waking up each morning is an unbound happiness, surrounded by the golden streaming sun and blue blue skies. I try to find fault, and yet I cannot bear to bring myself to think bad of anything or anyone. Even when Vell threw a fit and hurled blue ink all over my new dress, I couldn't find the heart to get angry, which, oddly, seemed to infuriate her even more. 

She has become erratic and unpredictable, restless in the worst way. She says the brightness of Laer makes her eyes hurt; it makes her head ache and pound, and her whole body shake with chills. Poor Vella, she skulks from one room to another, glaring all the time, while people give her wide berth as if she is afflicted with the plague. But even her mood cannot take the beauty of the world away during this season of Laer, during this time of Festival and brilliant Life. I am alive and it is Laer! 

I am happy, if only for this time.

Until then,

Avaranthe

**

Avaranthe awoke from her slumber to the first day of the festival of Laer. The Festival, a tradition that took place once every year for one month during the middle of the summer season, was a time of joy and togetherness; a perpetual celebration in which the elves rejoiced the gift of Life and Immortality. Ava always loved the months of Laer, the summer season in which trees thrived and flowers blossomed; baby animals creeping away from their mothers for the very first time, feeding from the palms of maidens; blue blue skies echoing soft white clouds that held dreams which could suddenly be achieved.

She sighed, breathing in deeply of the crisp morning scent of sunshine and warmth. She basked in that early morning feeling of comfort and rest; that tingling that went straight down to her toes. A sudden memory of Legolas, Vella and herself rolling down hillsides covered with daisies back in their childhood crept into her mind, and an unbidden bubble of laughter escaped her lips. 

It is a time for joy and laughter, she thought, grinning from ear to ear as she rose from her bed. As she made her way down to the gardens, she passed her older sister who stared sullenly at her bowl of oatmeal breakfast.

"What's wrong with you?" Vella muttered, scowling. 

"I'm happy." Ava replied, smiling broadly. "And really, Vell, you should be too! It's the first day of Festival; a time to be happy."

Vella's eyes widened, surprised to see such happiness exhibited by Ava, who'd taken to sulking since the Prince had left. 

"Sure." She said, shrugging. "Spare me the details."

"Oh Vella, you'd enjoy it if you only gave it a chance!"

"What rainbow caught and ate you up?" Vella demanded, wanting to know why Ava was in such a goddamn good mood while she, Vellesta, was stuck with a rain-cloud over her head. Ava glanced at her sister for a moment, wondering herself where the words that were coming out of her mouth came from; for that matter, where the happiness that shone from her found its source. 

"I..umm...I don't know." She said, pausing to glance at the deep blue sky above. "I guess I feel...obligated."

"Obligated, hmm?" Vella said, pursing her lips and staring glumly at the bowl of oatmeal before her. 

"Yes, obligated." Ava said slowly, the thoughts forming in her mind and in her heart. "I feel like I must be happy. Like....the time for happiness is running out, and I must catch it while it stays near."

Vella snorted, rolling her eyes. She spooned a glob of oatmeal, then watched it slowly drop back into the bowl with a squelch. Ava smiled thinly, shrugging.

"That is just how I feel this day. Perhaps, I am only being dramatic." She turned, walking away briskly.

Vellesta watched her little sister disappear into the green forest, the words circulating in her mind. ....Happiness...Time...Peace...Happiness...Joy...

Perhaps, what she felt, deep in the core of her being, was the exact opposite.

....Dread...Fear...Time...Running...Dread...Darkness...

She shivered despite the warm wind that blew gently into the dining room. She shook herself, closing and locking the door on the part of her that felt. The part of her that beat with Life; she had learned long ago to close the lock and forget that she could feel, that she had a heart, pulsing with life. It had become habit, to live without a heart; so much of a habit that she now awoke in the mornings and often had to wonder whether she was alive or dead, asleep or awake.

Asleep or awake, dead or alive...was there really a difference?

~

"Avaranthe." A loud booming voice filled the hallway, and startled, Ava whirled around right into Lord Delanthor.

"Father!" She exclaimed, smiling brightly. Lord Delanthor smiled as well, surprised and pleased to see the huge grin upon his youngest daughter's face. For weeks, he'd become accustomed to her sulking gaze, a distracted grimace at most. A smile suited her, he decided, it made her pale features brighten instantly and shine with an inner warmth. She was his daughter, the one who'd inherited his looks as well as his passions; the love of books and learning, the unsatiable hunger for knowledge. He'd missed her around, he thought whimsically, for the past weeks had been hectic and rushed and there had been little time to spend in the company of his daughters-well, one daughter.

Lord Delanthor was an old elf, old even by elven standards. He had seen much in his time and often found himself wishing his daughters to settle so that he may travel across the sea and be reunited with his love, the Lady Lelanna, once more. Though his proud, noble features hardly betrayed his years, the deep blue eyes that were the windows into his soul were filled with timeless knowledge and experience. 

"Are you preparing for Festival this night Avie?" He asked, seeing her arms filled with bolts of clothe and jewels. Ava flushed, having stolen the jewels from Vella's collection and the bolts of clothe from the Palace linen closet.

"I have no dress, Father. It is a special occasion." She said meaningfully. "Anyway, the jewels Vella will not miss; she hardly even knows they're there."

Delanthor paused a moment, his gaze settling upon a silver chain adorned with only a simple white-gold pendant. He reached out hesitantly, as if even the mere touch of a slender-handed elf would instantly turn it to dust and crumble before his eyes. The expression in his eyes was unreadable and for a moment, Ava was afraid.

"Father?" She whispered, wanting to grab the chain and run; to get as far away from the pain so evident in her Father's eyes as possible. "Father! What is it?"

Shaking his head, Delanthor's deep eyes flickered to his daughter and seemed unrecognizable; the eyes of one who has sunken too deep and lost a part in the process of returning. 

"I'm sorry, Avaranthe. I must be getting tired." He smiled thinly. "Hope that Vellesta does not notice the disappearance of her fine items."

"Of course, Father. I fear her wrath greatly." She replied wryly. 

He smiled, patting her hand. 

"I shall see you at Festival then. And you shall save a dance for me?"

His daughter smiled warmly, her elven beauty radiating in great waves of sunlight. Delanthor turned, drifting away as if still in a dream. Avaranthe watched her father leave, a sudden great weight in her heart. Glancing down at the chain, she wondered if it was cursed after all. That was what Vella had told her anyway.

With a shrug, Ava turned into her chambers and smiled, the brightness of Festival and Laer lifting her already high spirits. 

~

The elven halls and courtyards were decorated by hanging lanterns and glistening fountains. Great pains were taken each year for the beauty and sheer magnificence of the Palace; elves worked day and night, stringing up lanterns and lights, arranging flowers and trees, hedging and pruning until a garden stood that was unsurpassed by any in Middle-Earth. It is said that even the hard-hearted dwarves of Moria make journeys to gaze upon the wonder-filled gardens of the Silvan elves during their season of Laer. And though a dwarf had never been seen in the Palaces of Mirkwood, the rumors grew and accumulated until it was said that the Dark Lord Sauron himself would fall, weeping, to the ground before of the beauty of the elves. 

Ava took in the exquisite surroundings with awe in her eyes. Each year, a new design and layout was chosen so that one would never have to bear the same setting for Festival twice. This year, the Palace was decorated in the theme of sunrise and sunset, with lanterns and candles casting deep orange and purple glows and bright yellow sunflowers peeping out from behind screens of handcrafted silk. As night set, the glow of lanterns cast an eerie glow over the entire Palace, drawing the elves into a reverie. 

With her long pale hair wound around her head into a circlet and wearing new dress, Ava felt quite the equal to the ladies that arrived one by one to the Great Hall that housed the dinner and the dancing that would go on for twenty-eight days straight. She had tried pulling Vella to accompany her, but the scowling elf-maid had declined with a thud of her slipper against the closed door. 

"Avaranthe! Avaranthe Rivermoon!" She heard a voice calling her name and instantly turned, finding its source. Ilaya Louvres rushed up to her, her great azure eyes wide with awe and quiet contentment befitting to all unmarried elf-maidens.

"Isn't it wonderful, Avaranthe?" She said, her voice deep and gushing as she gestured towards the wide Hall alighted in shades of purple and red. "It's like some elven myth brought to life! It is beautiful this year, do you not think?"

Ilaya was a companion, if not a friend, and Ava nodded her agreement. The beautifully adorned elf was dressed in a deep lavender low-cut ensemble that brought out her eyes wonderfully and the accents in her pale blonde hair. The graceful arch of her neck rose from a low-collared neckline, showing just enough to ensnare even the most faithful elf lord. Ilaya was beautiful, as most elves went, and she knew it too. They had met each other at their first Festival, each braving the new experience with the support of the other. And though their friendship never lasted past the last day of Laer, Avaranthe was glad to see her once-a-year compatriot make an appearance once more; there was something deeply fulfilling in the continuous waves of routine and pattern. 

"Oh, Avaranthe, look over there. It's Lord Melguire." Ilaya turned, her eyes huge. "Is he not handsome?" She tittered; Ava was reminded of a certain mocking imitation Vella had done of the ladies at court once, Ilaya sounded exactly the same. "Oh oh! And look, over there, it's Lady Akilliea. I so envy that gorgeous dress." Ilaya turned, her lips pursed. "I hear they say that she had it brought all the way from the lands of Valinor itself, though I hardly believe her tales." Ilaya smiled furtively, as if about to pass on a piece of confidential, coveted information. " She actually had the nerve to tell my sister that she was to marry Prince Legolas!" Ilaya rolled her eyes.

Ava glanced at the appointed elves, then smiled to herself.

"I do not actually think the Prince is yet betrothed." 

"Oh, not to Akilliea for sure!" Ilaya said, shaking her head in a way that blatantly spoke other thoughts. "Come, let me introduce you to my dearest friend.." Ilaya took hold of Ava's arm and, linking it with hers, proceeded to drag the poor girl from one end of the Hall to the other, pointing out the latest gossip and news and stopping in between just long enough to exchange flirtatious smiles with the Lords she marked out as 'cream-of-the-crop'. 

Finally, the dancing began. After a long exhausting meal seated next to Ilaya and a egotistical Lord Jonquin, Ava felt a certain giddiness on the dance floor. With a little too much elven wine in her, Ava even managed to enjoy Ilaya's non-stop gossip and chirping laughter. 

"'My dearth Ilayath, allow meth to pressth my lipsth againsth your fair handst.." Ilaya paused, heaving a great sigh. "Was I the only one that wished to throw myself from the peaks of the Misty Mountains?!" Ilaya giggled, mocking the voice of an unfortunate lord named Belforam who, unluckily, spoke with a lisp. "Dear lord, I could hardly get away fast enough!"

"My dear, Ilayath!" Ava joined in, the wine making her giddy and bold. "Allow meth to kissth the hem of your dressth!" She bowed. Ilaya burst into giggles as did Avaranthe a moment later as she stumbled backwards. The two girls beamed, giggling, and with arms linked, sought out the noblest elf lords in the Palace.

Near midnight, the dancing was in full swing and couples began drifting out into the gardens to enjoy private moments in sheltered glazes. Ava, resting after a particularly quick waltz, watched Ilaya laughing in delight in the arms of her latest partner, some Lord Bryony. Ava felt a joy welling up in her being on this night when Vella was not around to ruin the mood; the lords and ladies had even begun casting glances in her direction, wondering at the appearance of this beautiful lady that had appeared from within the shadow of the "hell-bringer's" wake. Ava felt a smug satisfaction at their open-faced wonder; she'd show them 'normal'; she'd show them how ladylike a Rivermoon could be.

A breathless Ilaya fell gasping into a reclining sofa next to Ava. Lord Bryony smiled at both girls, hoping to hint at another dance, this time with the blue-eyed maid with the chiseled fine features. Ava, however, had other thoughts.

"Lord Bryony, would you, perhaps, get Lady Ilaya and I some pillows so we shall rest our feet?" She asked, the wine in her making her bold enough to flutter her eyes prettily as she had seen Ilaya do. Next to her, Ilaya burst into giggles at the outrageous request. Bryony, not wanting to become a serving boy yet enraptured by the suddenly wanton creature before him, fumbled for words. 

"Uhhh...Lady Avaranthe...umm..." Bryony cursed himself for being tongue-tied. He was not a young elf, and was definitely not inexperienced in the ways of love! So why was this one making him confused and muddled? It was, he decided, the fact that she was two very different persons. One was Ava Rivermoon, the pale-faced shadow of that terrible Vellesta Rivermoon, the demon who terrorized the entire Palace. That Ava was boring and shy, stuck with her pert nose deep in a book and glancing up only to blush and stammer a few words in reply when spoken to. The lady before him was not that Ava, it was, in fact, a totally different person. This was Lady Avaranthe, a stunningly beautiful elf with aquamarine eyes and shimmering hair; the wine made her flush prettily, while her long eyelashes fluttered ever so prettily. She spoke with poise and confidence, and made ridiculous requests befitting to such a beautiful elf. Bryony decided he rather liked this new side of Avaranthe Rivermoon and made a mental note to watch her more often; she was, after all, the daughter of the very powerful and important Lord Delanthor Rivermoon who sat at the right hand of the King. It would never hurt to have such high associations. 

"Well, Lord Byrony?" Ilaya sat up, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief. "Shall we pass the honor onto another elf? Perhaps one more manly?"

Byrony stiffened.

"I am quite capable, my ladies." Bowing stiffly, he turned and began a search for some pillows. Ilaya burst into quiet giggles, leaning back against Ava and studying Byrony's retreating form. 

"I have to say, Avaranthe, he is not lacking, that for sure!"

"A little shallow, don't you think?" Ava said, thinking of the way Byrony's eyes had skimmed her over, his dark eyes probably planning a thousand different ways to use her family name to enhance his own status. 

"I'm talking surface, my dear." Ilaya said. Ava smiled, understanding the tease.

"Oh I see. Well then, I really have nothing to say against that."

"I didn't' think so." Suddenly, Ilaya sat up. "Quick, quick. Straighten your skirts, you're hair! Look who's glancing this way!" The elf-maid began patting her hair, adjusting her long skirts to perfection. She gazed, not too often, in the general direction of her cause of concern. 

Ava sat up straighter, putting on her best demure smile. The two girls sat perfectly still, their expressions distant yet peaked, as the elven lady passed with her group of followers and admirers. Ava let out a breath after she had passed, feeling as if her entire being had been compressed into one cubic centimeter; she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Ilaya turned to her, 

"The Lady Amethys!" She whispered loudly, "they say she's the most beautiful elf to ever have graced Middle-Earth." She said earnestly, her eyes trailing the retreating noble, brazen envy in her eyes.

Ava studied the great lady from a distance, a certain growing pit of apprehension in her stomach. Lady Amethys certainly befit her name, for her eyes were the color of amethysts, a deep violet-blue framed by impossibly dark long lashes. Her slender, yet curvaceous figure, was adorned with crystals and sapphires given to her as gifts from suitors. Silvery hair glistened down her back in rivulets of streaming waves, enhanced only by a thin circlet of pure gold. Perfectly carved features accented each other to create a masterpiece of artwork. At least ten prospective suitors followed her trail, their eyes full of adoration. Avaranthe thought that if one man looked at her the way twenty gazed at Amethys, she might cross over the sea quite happy after all. 

"She is...quite beautiful." Ava said, the words choking in her throat.

"Quite beautiful?" Ilaya turned, her eyes round. "They say even orcs could not bear to lay eyes on her when she passed their midst." Ilaya swooned with the romance of it all. "... that the Dark Lord himself grovels at her feet; Avaranthe, this is no ordinary lady!"

Looks ordinary to me, Ava thought with a sniff. But then, she realized she was being petty and jealous so she stopped to study the Lady more carefully. If there was a social circle to belong to in the elven court of Mirkwood, it was Lady Amethys' circle no doubt. 

"Perhaps she will come speak to us!" Ilaya said, hope tinting the lyrical quality of all elven voices. 

No such luck, however, for Lady Amethys proceeded onwards towards the moonlit gardens with half a dozen suitors beside her. Ava shrugged, the deep sense of longing never leaving her. The night drove onward; Festival had begun.

~

Vellesta sat silently in the treetops, the night ticking by so slowly that she had begun to count the leaves that surrounded her. The sounds of Festival echoed dimly from the Palace and Vella knew, from experience, that the dancing would continue well into dawn and daybreak. Already, a week had passed of the god-awful Festival of Laer, and instead of becoming accustomed to the constant cheery mood of her younger sibling and all those around her, Vella was starting to become more and more irritated; at the smiling and laughing, at the secret grins and all-out chuckles. It was too damn sunny, she decided. 

And so, the elf had taken to escaping the palace and heading into the dark woods alone, as if distance itself would put her mood to rest. Vellesta lay back against the rough bark of the beech tree and gazed up through the leaves, counting the sparkling stars above. A part of her longed to join the festivities, to experience the joys of Festival as the other ladies did. A part of her longed to be normal (really!); normal and beautiful and accepted. 

Of course, that part never won out and instead, Vella stared at the stars and dreamed of adventure in faraway lands in which her skills as an archer and tracker would be highly valued rather than looked down upon; where others would not judge her by her beauty, but rather, by her spirit; where courage and heart meant life or death; where love was a thing shown by actions rather than by poems. Vella chuckled, knowing herself to be a fool to even dream of such a place, of such a life. 

"And yet, Mother, you spoke of a place as such, didn't you?" Her voice echoed clear and soft through the midnight velvet. She imagined each word wrapped in a gauze of clouds and star-shine, whisked high over the mountains and the sea, to the ears that would hear and understand so faraway in the lands of Valinor. 

"You told me of a world where I will be accepted for what I can do and be, rather than who I am." For a moment, Vella had the urge to burst into tears. Imagine, the hell-bringer in tears; even she had to laugh afterwards. 

"Mother..." She said softly, thinking of the one who had always listened and understood, the one who had crept away from home as a maiden and traveled the world at the side of the elf who would one day be her husband. Vella closed her eyes and brought up a picture of the Lady Lelanna. Dark hair like hers and flashing green eyes. 'My green-eyed one, the witchery in you comes from me.', Mother had said, one night as Vella had cried dry tears into her bosom, hearing the taunts of the palace elves deep in her heart. Be proud, Mother said, always proud. And take care of those you love most, she had said, just days before she'd passed over. 

"I'm wallowing again." Vella muttered, listening to the distant cheers from the Palace. She turned away from the Palace and climbed higher for a better view, so close to the night sky that she could imagine reaching out to teach those silver-tinted gems in the sky. She shut down her heart and her passions and instead, turned to how much she hated Festival and all its participants once more. That, at least, didn't hurt. That, at least, included no pain.

No more pain, Vella vowed, no more.


	6. Hidden Tears

Chapter 6 - Hidden Tears

**

Laer

July 5 III 3017

And so Festival continues! I am exhausted this night. With Festival in our midst, the whole Palace rarely catches any sleep at all! And we all have good reason not to as well! You see, it has become a rite of passage for those such as Ilaya Louvres to flirt and play each and every elf lord in the entire Palace, from mere boys to ancient lords who have seen many of Middle Earth's days. Of course, I cannot tell her how it bores me (yet, strangely, excites me!) to wander from one social clique to another, always swapping stories and gossip, exchanging critical looks as to whose dress was better than whose. And then the dancing, with all the lords that come to ask for my hand (oh the numbers). Sometimes, I wish that I could be another person, in another time; do not get me wrong, dear diary, for I do so enjoy the companionship of Festival, the warm spirits that hover and caress; I do enjoy Festival. Sometimes though, I only wish that I could enjoy Festival with those that I love, rather than those that simply look at me as a piece of material, a pretty doll in their midst. Perhaps, not even pretty after all. 

Each moment is crystallized in time and kept dear in my heart. I feel a foreboding, something in the drink and the food that makes me nauseous to think about. Perhaps that is why I feel that this Festival, out of the many in my young years, has been the happiest, rivaled only by those years spent as a child next to Vella and Legolas. I try to pull Vellesta into the swirling pool of Festival alongside me, for I desperately hope for her happiness; she is my sister, despite how she is. Unfortunately, my efforts have been all but wasted on that hellish creature. *Sniff* As for my other childhood companion and friend, he is still on his Journey, no doubt having the time of his life and not missing me in the least. Well...I've got nothing to say about that. My only hope is that when he returns, he'll bring that handsome, if crude, Ranger with him! I told Ilaya about him the other night; she wants to get a good look as well! 

Counting the days until my Prince returns.

Counting the minutes that Vella remains quiet.

Until then,

Avaranthe

**

**

Laer 

July 10 III 3017

You shall not believe it. I do not believe it and I was right there! Ilaya does not believe it...well, she does not believe it because she cares not to. Jealous one that she is....Anyway, imagine this dear diary:, Lady Amethys actually talking to I, Avaranthe Rivermoon, and commenting on my hair! Yes, my hair! She said (quote) "It's quite fascinating, child, how you're hair shimmers like the moon." My hair, like the moon! And all the while, all her admirers and ladies gawked and stared at me, as if I really did have hair like the moon! Of course, then Ilaya cut in and began showering praises onto the old girl about how deep her eyes were and how fashionable her dress was and yadda yadda yadda....I was altogether too phased to even be bothered by it.

I was stuck on cloud number nine for the rest of the night. Not even Ilaya's glares directed in my general direction could put a damper on my mood. I spent a good hour last night studying my hair and it really didn't look too much different to me; although maybe (!!) what I see is what not others see. 

I have hair like the moon. I do believe I have admirers to contend to!

Until then,

Avaranthe

**

**

Laer 

July 12 III 3017

Ilaya is jealous because Amethys sent one of her ladies over to offer me a glass of wine and then invited me to join their elite social clique during the dances. It was during this time that Amethys introduced me to Lord Breton who now carries my needles and my fans and dances with me each night. I like Breton. Some would say he is boring, but he's nice enough and he does not limp. He is the first lord to ever even offer to court me, any prospective ones in the past were quickly scared off by Vella. 

It is a nice feeling, to be accepted and admired. I can see the glares of envy as I make my way through the crowd and take my seat next to Lady Olla, who is just two seats down from Lady Amethys herself. A part of me feels guilty at experiencing such pleasure when our Prince is away fighting for the kingdom; another part of me dreads the return of the terrible Vell; yet another part misses the both of them and wants the return of past days gone by. 

Perhaps, I shall stop thinking altogether and let Breton do the thinking for me as well as everything else he already does. For gods' sakes, he'd even offer to dress me if it was appropriate!

Until then,

Avaranthe

**

**

Laer

July 18 III 3017

Ilaya didn't show up today and Amethys quickly filled her spot at the table, almost too quickly actually, despite my protests. Breton looked terribly handsome in a gilded velvet drape and belt; of course, he always looks two notches above amazing anyway so that's not really saying that much. 

The only notable thing about this day was that Vella appeared outside her rooms for the first time in what seems like eons. She looked happy, almost content, making me worry that she is up to something or has already committed a crime. Her only comment to me was that she thought I wore too much kohl around my eyes making me look like a blue monster. When I told Amethys, the great lady laughed and said that I didn't wear enough kohl; she said it made me look older and more mature, a substitute until I grew into my years of adulthood. 

Tomorrow, there is to be a cruise down the river for couples only. It is tradition every years, yet this is the first year I have been able to participate. Breton got me a beautiful gold necklace adorned with rubies he said brought out the red in my cheeks. I prefer still, though, the simple silver chain I found in Vella's room. 

Perhaps this is only a dream afterall. If so, pray that I do not wake.

Until then,

Avaranthe

**

Vellesta stiffened, her back arching slightly as another loud wave of laughter and talking erupted from the ballroom below. The Palace of Mirkwood was alight with fire and gaiety as the night took hold of Festival and brought up spirits with excesses of elven wine and dancing. All in all, it made Vellesta quite sick. When silence returned once more, Vella hunkered down into her arms and rested her chin against her drawn up knees. She was seated next to her window, her eyes roaming the wide expanse of forest and river that stretched as far as the eye could see. Above, the moon shone brightly with an eminence that outdid even the sun. It was such a beautiful night, with the elven gardens alit with lanterns and candles; Vella could make out shadowy shapes of couples in the secret groves built into the twisting mazes of the trees. No doubt, love would be found this night. No doubt, love would be lost as well.

A deep and sudden sense of longing gripped the elf-maid by the heart and squeezed harshly until Vella could hardly breathe. I don't care, Vella thought, convincing herself that she really didn't need anyone else. That up here, on her own by her dark window, she could be happy as well. She did it every year, didn't she? She was happy every year, wasn't she? Of course she was. 

"Oh bother." She muttered, turning away from the luminescent beauty of the trees and turning inward towards her bureau. Roaming through her various cluttered drawers and hidden spaces, she searched for something she could not name. 

Vella was naturally a clutter-lover; hardly could she stand the regal elven orderliness and precision. Her room was example enough of her need for excitement and irregularity. More often than not, it was boredom that drove her to mischief; boredom that drove her mad and crazy, boredom with life and it's long road ahead. And though the elf-maid never considered her life and it's immortality, she did foresee the long years in the future; long years bearing a burden of pain, and pent-up grief. Opening another drawer, Vella stuffed her hands in without thought, going through her things with an ease and swiftness even the servants would've envied. 

"Ouch!" She exclaimed suddenly, pulling back her left hand and seeing the dark line of blood emerging from the cut. Finding the perpetrator, she pulled it out to find a crumpled portrait done quickly on parchment. Immediately forgetting the paper-cut, Vella's blood froze, her pallor instantly paling. It was a portrait of her mother, the beautiful Lady Lelanna who had passed over the sea many many years before. The ache of loss in the elfgirl was as keen as it was the day she'd bade her Mother farewell. She'd been so young then, so young and stupid and careless. Not even realizing the one she considered the enemy, would be the one she'd miss most. Vella's slender, deft fingers-the fingers of an archer-traced the contours of the delicate face, the sharp high nose, the slender graceful neck. They had the same green eyes, the same midnight hair. Without realizing it, a tear fell from darkness and landed on the paper. 

Vella instantly wiped it away, for fear of damaging the heart-stopping beauty of the woman in the portrait. Unbidden memories flooded her; memories of long days gone by, days of dance and song, days of joy, laughter and care. Days when the deep hard core of her was soft and malleable; not yet frozen by time and bitterness. She felt a sob choking her, taking her in it's sharp grasp and squeezing until she could barely draw her next breath. 

Unstoppable, the tears rushed out. Vella's elven beauty was not marred by the tears; her eyes grew only clearer, the green ever brighter. The tears fell like crystals from her eyes, suspending in time; frozen for all to witness if only they should choose to see. What had happened? Vella wondered, how had things changed so much in such little time? Looking around her, Vella could hardly recognize where Lelanna had once lived, where her mother had once laughed and loved. Back in those days, Vella had been kind and gentle, she'd been sincere and, if boring, at least loving. Ava had been so young, she'd been a joyful child, the laughter in the skies reflected in her blue blue eyes. Father had been jovial; not the brooding, silent man he'd become. It's my fault, Vella realized. All my fault. And once more, the elven lady who denied her own worth, beat her poor heart black and blue until she cried red tears, pieces of her own heart.

When the sobs abetted, Vella felt weak and torn in two, shaken like a rag-doll between harsh emotions. She rifled for a few moments through the drawer, then fell back, her strength and will gone. Where had her life gone? She wondered, why am I so sad? Why am I so lonely? A sudden thought occurred to her, making her sift through the contents of the drawer once more. 

Biting her lip, Vella stood shakily and crossed her chambers to her jewelry box, wondering if she'd misplaced the cherished item she'd been given as a remembrance. For years, decades even, she'd forgotten and laid to rest the memories that had so haunted her adolescence; memories that threatened to overwhelm her young adulthood. Not finding it in her jewelry box either, Vella glanced around the room, trying to think up any possible place it could be. A thousand and one emotions plummeted her from all sides: fear, dread, longing, pain, loss. Turning, she decided it must be in her bureau and proceeded to empty each and ever drawer; dumping the contents of each and every one of the chests on the floor, throwing papers into the air, quills and other such trinkets against the wall. Below, the dancing elves drunk on Festival, paused only for a second to wonder at the wash of pain and anguish emanating from above. 

"Oh god, oh dear lord.." Vella whispered hoarsely, dread flowing through her veins like thick syrupy poison. It was the only thing of her Mother's that she had, the only thing left to hold on to; for a sudden sick moment, Vella wondered if she was hallucinating, if Lady Lelanna really didn't exist and she had made it all up in her head. 

Not finding it anywhere, Vella rushed into Ava's apartments, rushing through each and ever drawer; not caring of the mess she left in her wake. She was practically in tears all over again by the time she came upon the pearl bracelets and the sapphire earrings. At first, she hardly paused. Then, after a moment's thought, she realized why the jewels were so familiar: they were hers. They were jewels, long-forgotten, that had adorned the bottom of her jewelry case. Gripping the bracelet, Vella felt a hope rise in her heart; perhaps she had not lost it after all. 

With a motion so quick even a Silvan ranger would not have been able to catch her, Vella disappeared out the doorway and down the stairs towards the veranda and ballroom, where elves drank, laughed and sang. She pounded down the corridors, hardly giving a care to her looks, and when she finally came upon the Great ballroom, filled with dancing couples, lords and ladies dressed in their finest, the fury in her was as great as the pain that gripped her. 

She spied Avaranthe amidst a group of tittering ladies, and to her dismay, found Lady Amethys at the head. Vella knew Amethys from childhood. Back when Vellesta was still accepted into elven society, they'd always been stuck in the same studies and at the same tables and social cliques. They'd even been friends for a little while, until Vella had grown tired of gossiping and giggling and had resorted to trickery and mischief instead. Amethys had disowned the younger girl completely, going even so far as to spread hideous rumors of witchery and changelings. Vella had never forgive the elven lady for her cruel rumors, but had never quite been able to get back at her either. Amethys always surrounded herself with admirers and gaggling swans of ladies; each and everyone of them eager to bask in her glory and steal a little part of her for themselves. 

And now, to see Ava sucked into Amethys' social group, it was like seeing history repeat itself all over again. A part of Vella even went so far as to argue that it was the final blow in Amethys' little punishment for Vella; an overt example of her inability to do anything to touch the great and beautiful Lady Amethys. 

Vella fumed, pausing in the doorway to consider her game plan. She rarely let her anger interfere with her motions, knowing that such emotions would cloud her mind and more often than not, turn things against her rather than for her. She'd learned, centuries ago, to keep her feelings and emotions in check. With a cool, glazed expression upon her face, she strolled amidst the bright lanterns of Festival with an air of one who belonged; of one above. 

Strolling up to Ava, she tapped her younger sister lightly on the shoulder. With a surprised exclamation, Ava turned, her laughter quickly turning to a frown.

"Vellesta." Ava said, her heart sinking immediately. The younger elf could feel the eyes of Lady Amethys burning her back; this could either ruin her or raise her higher. She had bets on the ruinage. With a delicate arch of her eyebrows-a habit obtained from Amethys herself-Ava turned back to Lord Breton and the rest of the elves.

"This is...Vellesta Rivermoon, my sister." She said, introducing the misshapen dark-haired elf. Vella was surely ungroomed; her dark hair in long strands trailing down her back, her dress crumpled and in disarray. Even her eyes seemed red as if (by gods!) she had been crying, though Ava doubted this immensely. She'd never seen Vella cry, not even once. Not since the day Mother had left them. 

"Vellesta." Amethys said coolly, stepping forward. The omission of the "lady" preceding the name indicated Vella's status in the eyes of speaker. Vella cast the other elf a dark look, but concentrated rather, on Ava. 

"Where is it, Ava." She said coldly. "Where did you put it."

"Put what?" Ava asked, her aquamarine eyes wide. There's another effect she's learned from Lady Priss, Vella thought caustically. 

"You know what." Vella snapped, feeling her cool facade wearing on her nerves, the anger fraying her control and threatening to snap. "Give it back to me now, Avaranthe."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Ava retorted, slightly flushed. Behind her, she could feel the eyes of all resting upon their little scene. "Please Vell." She hissed. "Not now!"

"Don't 'Not Now' me!" Vella said, seeing dark shades of red before her eyes. "Do not feign ignorance, dear sister." 

"The children's rooms are above." Amethys cut in smoothly, seeing the calm and serenity of her social clique wearing away as each minute clicked by. "Perhaps, Vellesta, you should take your quarrels above."

"You just shut up." Vella almost shouted, but retained a tight, if loosening, grip on her temper. "Just mind your own business, Amethys. This does not concern you; or perhaps that nose of your's itches to grow only bigger." Vella paused, her eyes growing large. "Ooops! That warning came too late."

Amethys glared, turning to one of her admirers to be assured that her nose was absolutely perfect and to be reminded, once more, that she was the prettiest elf in all of Mirkwood. 

"My my, Vellesta, aren't we the hypocrite." Amethys said, her words dripping with sarcasm. She looekd pointedly at Vella's undone hair and crumpled dress. "Of course, without proper upbringing, one should expect such turnout."

Vella flushed, despite her cold, hard shield. I'm happy with who I am, she reminded herself. I don't need any of them. She turned away from Amethys, her eyes hard and sparking with enough fire to burn the entire forest if need be.

"Just give me the goddamn necklace, Ava. It was not yours to take in the first place."

"What necklace?!" Ava hissed. She reached up, feeling the gold ruby necklace, the horribly ugly thing, that Breton had made her wear. Suddenly, she remembered the jewels she'd taken from Vellesta. "Oh!" She exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Oh..."

"Yes. Yes, Ava, those were mine." Her voice was deadly, low and soft; the worst sign. "Now where is the silver one, the one with the white-gold pendant in the shape of a swan. Where is it, Ava?!" She demanded, stepping slightly forward with a menacing grimace to her lips. 

"I..uh..I..I don't know!" Ava exclaimed, embarrassment rushing to her cheeks. "The others are in my room." She said, hoping to get Vella to leave, then deal with her later.

"No! I want the silver one!"

"I-"

"Ladies! Err-I mean.." Amethys glanced pointedly at Vella, then turned to Ava. "Come, child, let us go out to the gardens." She'd decided she'd had had enough of this charade.

Ava looked helplessly to her older sister, then was steered away by Breton and Amethys flanking on either side. Vella shook with helpless anger, wondering if she was crazy to even consider what she was about to do. She was absolutely certain Ava had done something, she could see it written plain as day across her sister's fair elven brow. 

Stopping a server in mid step, she whisked away a goblet of elven wine and downed it in one swallow. The immediate warm rush assailed her from all sides, making her sway involuntarily. Shaking her head, she replaced the empty goblet for another, full one. Then, with a dark expression across her countenance, Vella marched up to the phony do-gooder, whirled her around, and poured the entire contents of the goblet down her silk-laid, embroidered dress. 

Amethys' great violet eyes widened with shock, horror and, to Vella's glee, utter humiliation. Suddenly, the entire ballroom went dead silent, everyone turned and watching the spectacle before them: the lady Amethys facing the "hell-bringer", a full cup of elven red wine down the front of her dress. 

For full long seconds, Amethys couldn't find a single word to say. She sputtered like a drowned fish; and to everyone's amusement, the elf's radiant beauty dimmed to a dull glow while Vella stood before her and shone like the sun. 

"You...you...you..." Amethys struggled to find an appropriate lady-like word but couldn't seem to find one that incorporated the whole meaning. "You fiend!" She gasped, "You horrible horrible..!" 

There was a tittering going through the crowds as all eyes watched the beleaguered elf struggling to retain some semblance of her dignity and not succeeding in the least. It was not everyday that the great lady Amethys was humiliated and brought down to Middle-earth from her perch high above. Several other ladies even went so far as to smile, feeling a certain satisfaction at seeing Amethys taking a dose of her own medicine. Feeling utter humiliation threatening to drown her, Amethys-so unused to being ridiculed-cast a furious glance at the whole congregation, finally settling her fiery blaze of fury on Vella, who was watching with a slightly amused, slightly cynical expression on her face. 

With a suppressed scream of anger and frustration that came out as a squeal, Amethys turned on her heel and marched away. After a moment, she turned and glared pointedly at her followers, who quickly jumped up to follow at their mistress' heel. A bunch of dogs, Vella thought disgustedly, not a single individual thought in the lot of them. Amethys, for good measure, cast a scathing glance at Ava as well, signifying the end of the elf-maid's respectability.

After Amethys' departure, resuming the dancing seemed oddly inadequate. Lords chatted quietly amongst themselves, their eyes never leaving the sisters who stood stranded in their midst. The ladies edged away, for fear that the dreaded Vellesta would turn on them. After what seemed like hours of awkward silence, Vella grasped hold of her younger sibling and with a yank, half-dragged half-pulled Ava up to her chambers where, at least, they could fight in the privacy of their own rooms.

Upon reaching the cluttered mess of Vella's chambers, Ava tore herself away from the other with a passion and anger unmatched. The look in her eyes was wild, the great aquamarine depths dark with fury.

"Ava.." Vella said, taking a cool step towards her sister.

"Stay away from me!" Ava screamed, edging towards the door. "Just stay the hell away from me, Vellesta."

Angered and (she admitted to herself) somewhat hurt, Vella recoiled slightly. With a wounded patronizing frown on her face she looked at Ava with what she hoped was a sad hurt expression. 

"I just wanted the necklace, Avie."

"You did not have to do that!" Ava spat, angrier than Vella had ever seen her before. Ava's entire body was rigid, her jaws clenched so tightly that she seemed ready to burst at any moment. She stood stock still, her eyes closed as her breath came in ragged gasps. Running through her mind was the utter humiliation she'd felt when Vella had appeared, the humiliation and anger. What right did Vella have in ruining her night? In ruining everything that she'd built up during Festival? She'd actually been respected, she'd actually been accepted and revered; a bile taste threatened to gag her and Ava let out great breaths to keep her temper in check. A lady never explodes, she reminded herself, only to be washed with another wave of sickness. 

"You had no right." Ava said softly, her eyes opening slightly to expose glittering daggers of anger and hate. Yes, hate. That was exactly what she was feeling; hate like she'd never felt it before. Perhaps, it was due to the fact that she'd never before lost so much, lost so much in such a short time. "You had no right to do that to me!" Her voice rose to a scream.

"What!" Vella said, her own temper rising. "What?! Did I embarrass you, Ava? Should I have gotten down on my knees and kissed Amethys' goddamn shoes like the rest of you? Or perhaps, I should've licked them clean as well!" Vella glared at her younger sister, remembering that Ava had taken her things without asking. "And you stole my jewels! You had no right to do that!"

"Ugh!!" Ava seethed in frustration, silently crying tears at her loss. She knew that she'd never again be welcomed in Amethys' circle, no longer be attending the late night dancing and laughter, the moonlit cruises down the river. No more...The words were so final, they made her quake with loneliness. Tears, unbidden, trailed down her cheeks, yet all she felt was a terrible anger. "Why can't you be normal? Why can't you be normal!!!" She shouted. 

Vella glared, her own fury silencing her voice.

"Just give me back the necklace."

"What stupid necklace!" Ava said, letting out an exasperated groan. Vella didn't seem to be letting up about the stupid necklace; what did she want it for anyway? It wasn't as if Vella was about to go down and partake in festival. 

"It's not stupid!" Vella snapped. "Now give it back to me, baby Avie."

"I hate you!" Ava seethed, her own fury boiling.

"Well, I hate you too!" Vella carped, her voice imitating a baby whine. Ava wanted to kill her; wanted to be rid of her forever. Perhaps then, she'd live a normal life, a good life. 

"Never, ever, ever come near me again." She said, her voice low and dangerous. "Just stay away from me." With that, she turned and, with a great sob, slammed her door shut. 

Vella stood outside, a part of her anger, another part sad, and yet another part somewhat amused, and pounded on the closed door.

"Give me the necklace!" She shouted so loud she was sure even the elves remaining below could hear her. "Ava!!!!" She shouted, pounding and pounding until her hands bled for sure and she could feel her strength ebbing.

"Give me the-!"

The door swung open, revealing a disheveled Ava with knives for eyes and hate emanating in waves. 

"I want what's mine." Vella said coldly. With a slam of the door, Ava disappeared once more, only to appear once again with the white-gold pendant hanging on the silver chain dangling in her hands.

"This?" She spoke with a voice totally devoid of emotion; only cold, hard anger in her eyes. 

"Give it to me." Vella lunged for it, only to be one step behind the anger that made Avaranthe quick and crazy. 

"You want it, Vellesta? Huh?" Ava wondered if she was crazy; it was as if the real Avaranthe was floating somewhere in space, a place devoid of care and emotion and she watched as her earthly body sneered and dangled the pendant over the great precipice out the window. " You want it, Vella?" The mock-Ava said coldly, "See how it feels to want, sister." 

Then, ignoring the strangled cry from Vella, Ava throw open her window and tossed the silver chain as far as she could deep into the starry night. Vella arrived, two seconds too late, her arms grabbing at empty air as her keen elven sight spied the silver chain disappearing into the depths of the forest surrounding the palace.

At first, she could only stare in horror as the only thing she had left of her mother sailed out of her grasp from the hands of her own sister. Then, she began to shake with an uncontrollable anger, an anger forged of pain and denial; of grief and loneliness. 

With a scream, Vella turned and jumped on the younger elf, who obviously hadn't been expecting the sudden furious attack. Ava kicked and scratched, covering her face from the blows that Vella delivered. Vella was half-mad, all rationale gone as she tried to strangle the one who'd torn her heart out and sent it sailing into the great dark depths.

Their screaming and shouting brought the courtiers and lords to their door, wondering who was being tortured in the midst of Festival. Lord Delanthor arrived at the scene and gasped with horror at seeing his two precious daughter (precious, hah!) trying to murder each other. He rushed forward and, dodging Ava's flailing legs, pulled Vella off her sister. 

Through her grief-clouded mind, she could feel somebody pulling her away from her object of hate. She struggled for a few moments, then collapsed into great sobs of pain and exhaustion. Delanthor held his eldest daughter as he once had, hugging her to him as she cried and cried, tears unshed over centuries poured out from the reopened wound.

"I hate you...I hate you..I hate you.." She sobbed, over and over as Ava sat up, dazedly wondering what had happened and who all these elves were that surrounded them. 

"Shhh. Shhh, it's okay." Delanthor stroked his daughter's dark hair, marveling at how fine it was, and lead her back to her chambers; he dismissed all the on-lookers with a sharp glance. In her distraught state, Vella compliantly fell into bed without complaint and lay crying softly as her father gathered up the things that littered the room. The right-hand of the king paused as he saw the portrait of his beloved wife laying in disarray upon the floor. With a shake of his head, Delanthor shut the picture into one of the bureaus, closing the shelf tightly and turned back to his daughter. 

He knew that a reprimand was in call, that Vella shouldn't have acted as she had, towards the Lady Amethys (he'd already heard reports) as well as towards her sister. And yet, seeing her there, laying so still as to be dead, shedding tears she had not cried for so many centuries, he could do nothing but realize his love for her. 

"Goodnight, Vella." He said softly, tucking the covers in around her and blowing out the candles. He'd question her tomorrow; and be kind, he reminded himself. As he closed the door, he heard a small voice call out in the darkness.

"Daddy?" It was so small, so frail, that Delanthor was reminded of the his little girl dancing in the fields, his firstborn child, the tiny hands in his own. 

"Yes, Vell?"

"..." 

Suddenly, the father understood. He understood that for this moment, words were just not enough; words just simply did not comprehend.

Delanthor smiled.

"Goodnight, Vellesta."

He closed the door, then leaned against it and closed his eyes. The hurt ran deep, the grief even deeper. Perhaps what people saw of Vellesta Rivermoon was not all there was; perhaps all even he saw, was not everything. 

In the darkened bedroom, Vella could not find the heart to forgive a sister, and beside her, in another chamber right next door, the sister could not find the pain to understand.


	7. Broken Laughter

Chapter 7 - Broken Laughter

**  
Laer

August 3 III 3017

The deep feeling of Festival has run dark and dry. Sometimes, what I have lost strikes me to the heart and I cannot stand the thought of a sister named Vellesta. I shall not forgive her for this; I cannot forgive for this. No doubt, she is just as angry as I am, though I do not understand her obsession with that damn silver chain. She did not even notice it's disappearance for over a month! 

I see Amethys and her lords and ladies dancing in the gardens and know what I am missing. It was never this bad, this ache in my heart, this loneliness of my soul. It was never this deep for I had never tasted it's sweet fruit before, never known it's loving grace. And now, I have tasted the poison of acceptance and come to know the bitter feeling of loneliness and contempt. I am ruined. At times, late at night when the bright lights of Festival no longer haunt my dreams, I fear I have lost a sister. The fear then overcomes the pain and I know that I have lost something for sure; and then I wake on the morn and see the accursed Vella skulking in the shadows and the hate is renewed once more. We have not spoken in a word in over two weeks and if all goes well, we shall not speak words for a another two moons. 

Fine by me.

Ever since her confrontation with Amethys, Vella has been quiet if angry. The cursed sister who has ruined me; I will never be married for sure, I shall lead the life of a spinster, dark and angry, bitter like Vellesta. 

May Valinor rescue me as my tomes often do not anymore.

Even great battles long fought no longer grasp my imagination and make it take flight. That is how bad it has become.

Until then,

Avaranthe

**

Dinners had become dark, solemn affairs. Taken in the great hall, Delanthor forced his two daughters together for this time of day in the meager hopes that they would resolve whatever had caused the rift to grow between the two. Around them, the tittering chatter of the elves rose like a soft blanket; a comforting glow to the achingly cold silence that always settled between Ava and Vella, causing even Delanthor, the seasoned warrior, to shift uncomfortably in his seat. 

The high-ranking elflord had not been able to worm from Vella what her outrage had been about, nor had he been able to coax from Ava an explanation. It seemed that a great wall had grown up between the sisters and neither was willing to scale it's heights to meet in the middle. Vella stared out past her father's head, as if something just past his ear was the most interesting thing in the world; her green eyes were solidly blank, her jaws clenched together in a stiff informal frown. She looked something like a statue, frozen in time and space, untouchable. Ava, on the other hand, stared down at her plate of food and barely even glanced up, as if afraid that whatever would meet her eyes would deal a painful death. She shifted every two seconds and muttered phrases in response to questions. Her blue eyes were hooded and dark but painfully honest and readable.

"Pass the rolls." Vella said shortly, speaking directly to her father though the rolls sat right in front of the younger elf. Ava stared at her plate while Delanthor sighed inwardly.

"Pass the rolls." He intoned, addressing his younger daughter, who, begrudgingly, handed him the basket-which he passed on to Vellesta. 

Stop this nonsense! Delanthor wanted to shout, for he could hardly stand it himself anymore. It had gone on too long, and worse was the fact that he had to deal with it. Normally, his daughter's fights took up their own time and ran dry long before he ever gave thought to them; this fight, if one could call it that, seemed more of a detachment than anything else and it tore the lord's heart to see the remnants of his family falling apart. 

"Are you to join the festivities this night, Ava?" Delanthor asked, an attempt at sullen conversation. With a swift glance of hate directed at Vella, Ava shook her head swiftly.

"I am to grow old alone, bereft of comfort and friendship." Her icy gaze spoke what was really in her mind. Delanthor regretted having brought up Festival.

"Friendships, hah!." Vella muttered scathingly. Inside, Vella ached from loss. The pain of the elves is long-lived and terrible, and though weeks had passed since the loss of her beloved heirloom passed down from her Mother, Vella felt it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. 

"There are many in this world who go without friendship; they are the ones who are withered already." Ava retorted, careful to speak only to her Father. 

"And there are some who would lick behind the trail of those they'd consider 'friends'" 

"And still those whose bitterness infects all they come near." Ava's eyes flashed. "God forbid all of Mirkwood be infected."

Delanthor marveled at how his daughters could be so cruel to each other and yet not even be speaking. 

"An outcast, that's what I will be." Ava laughed, a short caustic sigh more than a laugh. "Perhaps it runs in this family." 

With a clatter loud enough to turn several heads in their direction, Vella, for the first time in weeks, looked straight at her younger sister. Her eyes, a deep dark emerald, were terrible to behold.

"Do not speak about this family." She said softly, her voice deadly and empty of emotion. "For you speak in ignorance." 

Then, in a mass of dark hair and clatter, Vella was gone, her light steps already receding out the door deep into the forests of Mirkwood. 

Out in the clear night air, Vella seethed with anger. Running through the dark trees, she let the cool wind wash over her like a settling balm; a coolant to her anger. Ava had no right! No right at all, to speak as she did. What did she know? What did she feel? Nothing, absolutely nothing at all. Avaranthe had been too young to know their Mother, too young to know the grief that had surrounded their quarters for years, too young to see the changes that had happened; such small changes, until the day Vellesta had awakened to find a different world and become a different person. No longer was her mischief based on joy, her play in laughter-she now trailed ladies to be cruel, told stories to frighten and made heartless terrible jokes to bring others to tears. Bitter and caustic, she may be, but it was not of her own will.

Reaching a familiar tree, she scrambled up its branches and perched up in a nook near the top. Above her, the night sky stretched higher than the deepest sea and up there, Vella felt invincible. 

She must've fallen asleep for she was later awakened by the sound of horses and shouting. The night was darker than before and Vella guessed it to be near midnight. The air was cool, the sort of summer air that signaled a change in seasons to occur; an approaching of autumn winds. As Vella awakened from the deep abyss of slumber, an instant and overwhelming fear assailed her from all sides. It gripped her heart and made her bowels clench with panic. Instantly alighting to her feet, she cursed the long gowns that hindered her movement, and scrambled higher into the trees. 

Peering deep into the night air, Vellesta Rivermoon reached deep into her core and felt the Forest at its heart; the flora in her blood. A distant shriek tore through the air, a sound that made Vella shiver and quake with fear. Vella had never scared easily, even the stories told by wayward travelers of monsters and orcs had done little to her as a child except, perhaps, extort a slight amused smirk. But the unearthly scream elicited an involuntary jump from the frozen elf-maid, and Vella instantly longed to be back in the safe, if boring, havens of the Palace and her own chambers.

She took off on a run towards the distant, flickering Palace, still alight with Festival; only, the music seemed to have dimmed since her departure, the lights having taken on a dull, sickly glow. Oh god, Vella thought, her heart in her throat, Oh god. She knew, as she tore through the woods-the anger she'd felt so acutely diminished to a haphazard thought- that something terrible had happened. As soon as she scrambled up the precipice leading in through one of the side doors, Vella felt her heart drop three beats and she stopped as suddenly as she'd taken off. The crowd that had congregated in the Front Hallway, suddenly so gaudily decorated in glowing lanterns, buzzed and murmured as one by injured one, the Company that had journeyed out to slay a simple band of orcs not two months ago, was brought in on stretchers, reeking of blood and death.

Legolas! Vella's first thought went to her prince. She pushed her way through the throngs of elven nobles, having to turn and find another path more than once as each strained to catch a glimpse of their Prince. The Ranger seemed the only one capable of walking, and even he had to be supported on two sides by elven scouts. In all the hustle and bustle of guards and scouts and nobles everywhere, Vella tried to find her Prince; a deep dread burrowed itself into the pit of her stomach, making her fear something she dared not mention lest it become true.

"What has happened?" She inquired, constantly trying to fight her way to the front. "What is going on!?"

Some cast her dirty looks-the ones once been the butt of her darker side. Others merely shrugged. Vella felt ready to burst from frustration and dread. Her mouth felt dry and her body weak, a cold sweat had broken out onto her forehead. 

"What is going on!?" She seethed, frustrated beyond words.

"They say it was orcs, that there were too many and our archers could not fend them off." A voice quipped beside her. Vella turned, relieved to find a source of information finally. To her consternation, it was no other than Amethys, smiling smugly back at her.

Without a word, Vella turned back to fighting the crowd. Another stretcher passed by, but she couldn't tell if it was Legolas or not for each was accompanied by a throng of guards and sentries. 

"Looking for your beloved prince?" Amethys' voice broke into her mind once more. Vella turned, her glare dark and icy. When Amethys saw that she wasn't going to get much of an answer, she laughed. For a short instant, Vella thought she might slap the snobby spoiled brat. Instead, she only glared-so darkly that even Amethys was silenced. 

"Don't you laugh, Amethys, it is not a time for laughter." 

Amethys paled, her violet eyes dimming. Without another word, she disappeared back into her crowds. Vella watched her go, shaking with anger and dread. Something akin to grief washed over her. Why am I feeling like this? She berated herself; Legolas is fine, he is probably awaiting me already. Stupid, stupid, stupid....silly girl.

For hours, Vella paced up and down the Great Hall. Each time another piece of gossip reached her ears, she jumped for joy or nearly cried with despair. Each rumor severed another string attached to her heart, making her emotions jump wildly between brilliant joy and wild despair. Give me my prince, she begged Fate, give me my best friend. In her mind, she promised everything that she had and more; she promised to be good and kind, truthful and docile: the perfect lady. Just give me Legolas, she begged. Inside, she was a wreck, a nervous basket case. Outside, her demeanor was so calm to be almost cold. 

She doesn't even care! The court whispered, their own faces flushed with worry for their Prince. Look at that Vellesta Rivermoon, she hardly bats an eye in the face of losing our Liege!

The lanterns that surrounded the Great Hall swung limply, casting bright shadows as the sun began to climb and reach it's zenith. The festivities that had shone through the Palace were dimmed, everything covered by a somber blanket of worry and darkness. As the sun rose to a new day, not a single elf shouted greeting to it's rising brilliance. Not a single elf laughed, not a child sighed with contentment. As the sun rose, a small elf appeared out of a side door, his hands clasping a small bag. The entire court hushed, turning in reverence to this small elf that held the entire kingdom in thrall.

"He is alive." The physician to the Prince announced. "He is alive."

The Court erupted into buzzing and murmurs, some ladies going so far as to faint right into the arms of their husband-or the nearest suitor. With a sigh, Vella felt her heart leap, then surge. Legolas, alive! Alive and, if not well, at least recuperating! At a time she would normally be awakening, Vella climbed the stairs to her chambers and fell into bed, exhausted. Sleep came swiftly, a dark void of nothingness that she welcomed all too much.

~

For the next few days, entrance to the Prince's chambers was prohibited to all but King Thranduil. To Vella's consternation, they wouldn't even allow her admittance.

"But he's expecting me!" She half-shouted, wanting to throw herself down to the ground and throw a tantrum then and there. The guard, a strangely dark elf with deep amber eyes, only shook his head. Vella had been back each day, and each day, the response had been the same. The elf-maid was beginning to wonder if Legolas had really barred her from seeing him. The thought made her weak with despair and also fiery with anger; the little twit! How dare he! And after all the things she'd done for him! No less the time she'd had her arm broken in two places after falling from a high tree when he'd made her retrieve his arrows for him!

"At least tell Prince Legolas I have been by." She wheedled, turning once more to the guard. The guard, by the name of Pinesly, studied the girl before him; deciding that he wasn't going to get rid of her any other way, he nodded curtly, then stood back to attention. Knowing that that was the best she'd get, Vella swallowed her cattish comments and turned on her tail. 

Festival was wrapping up. Laer was coming to a close and already, the season was changing rapidly. Lavas came early this year, the crispness already in the air; the smell of sweet decay and coming snow prominent in the forest. After the shocking return of their injured prince, most elven nobles had felt little incline to return to the festivities that had gripped them only days before. It seemed....unfair, to laugh when their Prince lay on the brink of death and sons lay buried deep underground. And so, with as little ceremony as possible, Festival drew to a close and Lavas, the changing season, was upon Mirkwood.

It was the chill of the season that made the elf-maid shiver as she climbed the trees just outside the room that held the injured Prince. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind shrouded clouds of deep silver and grey. After having come to the decision that she'd never see Legolas if she went the proper way, Vella decided to take matters into her own hands. And so, she now sat directly outside his window, perched high in the trees, while she debated her next course of action. 

She could knock. Of course, that demanded a certain amount of luck; i.e. if someone happened to be in the room, she'd be discovered and punished severely. She could always just sit up in that damn tree and wait until Legolas had the notion to open his window. However, she didn't like that idea much at all. So finally, she just opened the window (she'd learned long ago that locks were merely an inconvenience) and stepped into the dark chambers. 

The room was dark; Vellesta hadn't been in Legolas' private chambers for years, not since younger days when they'd played fantastic games of dragons and fairies. A bout of nostalgia hit the elf as she glanced around, remembering long days past. The Prince's private chambers were actually quite unadorned. Though Legolas himself loved beauty, as did all elves, his own sleeping quarters were extremely simple and plain. It consisted of a desk, cluttered with parchment and ink, a basin in the corner and a large bed upon which lay the Prince's sleeping form. He looked so peaceful lying there, his grey eyes dark in the moonless night. She had not the heart to disturb his slumber. Instead, she made her way over to his desk, rifling through his papers and documents. Some where official messages, stamped with the royal seal of Mirkwood, others were simply drawings and, to Vella's amusement, pieces and parts of poetry that Legolas had been writing. 

..."and upon thy lips, the sun doth shine,

a moonlit glow, the taste of perfection."

Vella smiled, wondering to whom these love poems were addressed. She imagined a beautiful princess of some faraway land (perhaps even a human!?!) worthy of her prince's love. She would be more than beautiful, Vella decided, more than a pretty face. She would be brave, because she knew how Legolas loved to tell of his journeys and if this princess was timid, then she would not like his tales for sure. She would also be funny, for Vella knew that Legolas loved to laugh, that Legolas lived through his laughter. Beautiful, funny and brave; Vella smiled at the thought. Shuffling through more documents, she found another snippet of a poem.

"Glistening full; who but thine heart can bear my soul?

Who can hear my cry and feel my pain,

to bear my love, as burdens shall go-"

Suddenly, she felt a sharp prick against her neck and the cold metal of a dagger grazing her cheek. Startled, she dropped the parchment she'd been reading. 

"And for what do I owe this?" His voice had changed, Vella mused. Tinged with sadness, it was deeper, more solid. For a moment, she feared that it was more than just his voice that had changed. Vella stayed still for a moment, then whirled around and-using a trick the prince himself had taught her-twisted the sword out of his hands. Now, it was Vella that maintained the upper hand, the short dagger pointing back at the Prince.

"You locked me out." She said archly, irritated for a moment that she'd actually had to sneak in through a window to see him. Legolas smiled thinly, his eyes tired and dark. He looked bad, she decided, not bad, exactly, just tired. Exhausted, really. His long hair was tied back with a cord and even in the dimness, she could see it's lackluster glow. Deep circles marred his pretty eyes and there was a sadness to him, an aura that trailed him. 

"I've been...tired." He replied. Vella dropped the dagger onto the desk with a dull thud, suddenly sad. For the first time in a long time, she questioned her actions and wondered if she shouldn't have come barging in. What had she been expecting, she wondered, her gallant prince ready to make jokes and laugh? Legolas awaiting her with open arms, ready to go play at shooting arrows? How stupid, she thought, he must think I'm a silly little girl. Turning, she headed for the window.

"I'll leave you to rest." She said shortly, pushing the window upon. 

"Hey! Hey.." He caught up to her, grasping her arm. "Wait." 

"You need to rest; I..." She paused. It was the closest she'd ever come to an apology. A real apology. 

"I am rested." Legolas laughed thinly, a sound that carried none of it's usually carefree demeanor. "I think I rest too much, perhaps that is my problem." Seeing that she was still about to go, Legolas dropped his arm. "Please, Vell?"

He looked so lost, so sad and grieved. For a moment, Vellesta had to resist the urge to run and hide. She didn't know if she was strong enough to be there, to hold him up when he fell down. 

She shut the window. 

They sat on the bed, side by side, as Legolas lay his head on her shoulder. It was such a comfortable pose, familiar. When the prince had been younger, he'd often been bullied by his various ruffian cousins. They'd taunt him, then hit him-knowing full well that the noble little prince had too much pride to tell on them. The times it'd get really bad, Legolas would often limp back to his rooms and then wait for Vella to find him. Then, as he cried, she'd hold him and tell wonderful stories (the opposite of the ones she'd tell the ladies at courts), special stories saved especially for him, which would take the tears away. 

This time, however, she had no stories. More correctly, she had no stories that would be able to take the grief out of his heart. The silence was killing and balming, enveloping and choking, suffocating and coaxing. Legolas grasped her hand, shaking with silent held-back sobs. Vella wrapped one arm around her Prince, and bit her lip. She'd never before seen him this bad; this pained. Prince Legolas wasn't an unseasoned warrior, nor was he weak-of-heart or timid. Vellesta knew that whatever brought him to shuddering tears was terrible indeed, and a part of her longed to face such evil and protect him from it forever. 

"Can you tell me what happened?" She asked softly, bending lower so that their noses nearly touched. Legolas looked into her green pools and felt himself being sucked in and lost; vanishing into a dark pit where his misery and pain disappeared. How could he tell her that he'd been a coward? How could he tell her that he'd run, leaving behind two of his own? How could he tell her his shameful deeds when he was always the one telling brave and glorious stories of heroic deeds and valor? How could he be so hypocritical? 

The truth was that the Nazgul, those unearthly foes they'd encountered in the dark forests of Mirkwood, had struck a deep fear into the Prince's heart. A fear so deep and so dark that he'd run when they'd been confronted by six of their number. They'd all run, and each of those that had survived bore with him the pain of that fear. Legolas could see it, the guilt, in the eyes of each of the warriors. From Vaolin, the proud archer, to the human ranger, Aragorn. They walked the halls with haunted eyes, their physical wounds healed; their emotional wounds still fresh and pulsing with agony. And now he could be healed by the one that he loved, he could be comforted and healed; he was alive. Alive when Felowin and Quirathus were not. Comforted when Felowin and Quirathus faced the dark doors of death, abandoned; the forests mourning the unnatural death of their own.

With a strangled cry, Legolas tore himself away from Vella as if he bore the plague. 

"Do not come near me!" He cried, his countenance contorted with pain and guilt. "You do not understand!"

Vella studied him, her outer cool hiding the inner turmoil she felt; Legolas saw the pain in her eyes, he felt the pain in her heart. The 'hell-bringer' they called her, never knowing that the only hellish part of her was her heart. Her terrible, loving, giving heart that took the pain from him and made him feel the joy and good in life; he did not deserve her, not at that moment when the guilt ran over him like waves of the ocean.

"You could not understand." He said, standing away from her. He gripped his fists to his sides, fighting back the tears that he dared not shed. 

"Make me understand." Vella insisted, her eyes wide. When have I never understood you, my dear dear Legolas? She asked herself, over and over, wondering if she'd done something wrong.

"You cannot." 

Fury rose within her heart, fury from the pain and the hurt. Her jaw clenched and she looked away. Her eyes were brilliant, and just being near her made his own pain ease; he did not deserve her there and yet he could not bear to see her go. 

"I'm....." He trailed off. "I'm sorry, Vell."

"Why are you sorry?" She said, more caustically than she meant perhaps. Legolas sighed, falling into an armchair.

"Vella..." He groaned, not in the mood to handle her caustic and snide remarks. She rolled her eyes and, with her arms folded righteously across her chest, stared out the window with a bored/annoyed expression. 

"Vell..." He said meaningfully, the anguish in his heart subsiding in the face of her irritation. "Vella, come on."

"What?!" She snapped. "I don't understand, remember?"

Legolas sighed, a part of him relieved in the face of something so domestic and so....real. It made his nightmares deep in those forests seem distant; did she do this to him? Did she do this on purpose, this feeling that washed over him, did she mean to make his heart grow light and his smile come back?

"Vell.." He glanced around, knowing that to gain her back would take humility, courage and most of all, humor. He saw the piece of parchment she'd been reading upon his bureau, and then blushed. His poems....he knew she'd disapprove, and with a sweep of his hand, he raised his voice. 

"Glistening full; who but thine heart can bear my soul? Who can hear my cry and feel my pain, to bear my love, as burdens shall go. Upon cold roads, a star shines warmth...." He spoke dramatically, his arms sweeping wide circles. He knew he was being a fool, he knew he was being absolutely ludicrous, and yet he knew that with each word he spoke, a little piece of his heart returned to him. 

Vella turned slightly, glaring at the Prince who was reciting poetry in these dark hours. 

Legolas fell to his knees, inching closer to the bristling Vella. 

"...this star my star, in the great broad sky.."

He reached her and bowed, 

"My deliverer, great bearred of pains." He threw the parchment away, the words coming from his heart. "Shall she forgive me, or shall I walk in darkness the rest of my days, my star to have darkened the night." 

Vella regarded her, one eyebrow arched in an unreadable expression. Then, as if coming to a decision, she offered her hand. Legolas smiled slightly, his first real smile since his return. With the grace and care of a carver, he took her hand and placed upon it, a gentle kiss. 

"My lady." He said, his smile bleak and beautiful all at once. You have taken away the pain and replaced it, if only for this few hours, with a lightness and a joy reminiscent of childhood, Legolas thought. Perhaps she meant to do that, perhaps she had no knowledge of her own power; but Legolas rose so that they were nearly face to face and he wrapped his arms around her and felt all his pain evaporate. 

"Thank-you, Vella." He whispered. 

She remained frozen for just a moment, still hurt that he refused to tell her what happened, then relaxed and let herself be enveloped in his pain and love. 

"Will you be okay?" She asked, pulling away from him. Legolas studied her, 

"I'm okay right now." 

Her smile took away his pain; Legolas had not realized that he'd dreamt of that smile, the smile of his green-eyed muse. He had never realized that the poems he'd written, on parchment as well as in his head, were for her. Everything for her. 

"Tell me a story Vell." He asked. He lay on the bed, his head on her lap, while she gazed out the window, her slender fingers playing with the silken strands of his golden hair. It was the most innocent gesture in the world; Vella thought of the thousands of stories she'd told him, stories of brave deeds, of courageous acts, of valor and honor. Yet somehow, none seemed fitting for her beleaguered Prince. 

"I shall tell you a story...of love." She spoke softly, her voice a lullaby on its own. "There was once a princess...."

The Prince of Mirkwood closed his eyes and for just those hours, he did not have to feel the pain in his heart.

And as Vella spoke soft, healing words, she prayed. Prayed with a fervor to Fate, those cruel and fickle masters of the future. May there be peace, Vella prayed. Peace for Mirkwood, peace for Middle-Earth and most of all, peace for my Prince.


	8. Changing Winds

Chapter 8 - Changing Winds  
  
**  
  
Lavas  
  
August 30 III 3017  
  
And so, Festival has ended. To be politically correct, it ended at the turn of Lavas; but to be truthful, it ended the night our Prince returned with darkened eyes and we had lost two of our own. After that night, nobody felt like dancing and drinking; laughter was a sin and a smile hurt too much. It befits my mood, I think. I have not felt compelled to laugh, not compelled to even smile. Legolas has been gone, still recuperating and avoiding company-thought I know that Vella goes to see him nearly every day. I have only seen him once or twice, from a distance. Vellesta...what am I to write about her? It feels wrong yet I still cannot get over my anger. Neither can she, so, though we do not outwardly fight, there is a still a stone wall that stands between us. Sometimes, I wonder what it is that makes her so mad, for really, I have never seen her this furious for this long. Other times, she is only being catty Vella-the one whose anger needs no explanation.   
  
The dark Ranger is still around. He has his own chambers though I can feel his desperation to be gone. I am working up the nerve to approach him.  
  
Until then,  
  
Avaranthe  
  
**  
  
**  
  
Lavas   
  
September 12 III 3017  
  
I finally saw Legolas today! More frankly, he came to me (beams). I was wrapped up in a text of lore written some hundred years ago about the mining expeditions of the dwarves (written by elves, even I can tell it is terribly biased), when there was a knock on my door. I thought it was Vella and yelled for her to go away, then to my horror, Legolas opened the door and stepped in. I was so happy to see him, I threw the book down and threw myself into his arms. He winced and I was immediately sorry; he's not yet one hundred percent fighting fit. He smiled at me and held me at shoulders lenght, studying me as if seeing me for the first time. He said I'd grown (quote) "beautifully" and that I was "quite the young lady". I only laughed because he's only been gone two months and I haven't really grown at all in two months, though after he left, I did study myself to see if Amethys' earlier comment on my moonlit hair held any truth to it at all.   
  
We sat down, Legolas and I, and for the first time, he spoke to me as he spoke to Vella. Like an adult. From one to another, he actually treated me as if I were his equal; for that, I would do anything for him right now. I spent the rest of the day badgering him from one room to another until Vella told me to "get lost and stop bothering him!". Stupid Vella...she thinks she's all that.   
  
Until then,  
  
Avaranthe  
**  
  
**  
  
Lavas   
September 22 III 3017  
  
I didn't notice it at first, but Legolas has changed. I can tell by the way he looks at me. Sort of sad-like, as if I will whither away before this eyes, disappear in a cloud of smoke. He's more serious now, to me anyway, does not laugh as he used to. Even when he's with Vella, which is almost all the time, he does not laugh as much as he used to. I can hear them talking (an indistinct murmur) in her chambers next to mine, talking and talking late into the night. When he leaves, I spy on them through a crack in the door and I see Legolas walking away, his expression pained and Vella watching him go, her face blank. I know not what they speak of, for what Legolas speaks to me about has never been what he speaks to Vella about. Sometimes, I am jealous. But at times like these, I do not begrudge her his burden, however selfish that may sound on my part.  
  
The burial and procession for the two deceased elven rangers, Lord Quirathus Leviran and Lord Felowin Wersthire shall be tomorrow. It shall be a sad day indeed.  
  
Until then,  
  
Avaranthe  
  
**  
  
**  
  
Lavas   
  
September 23 III 3017  
  
Early at dawn, the entire Palace rose to sing chants of mourning for their brethren, for those who have suffered death as well as those loved ones left behind. It was a grey day, as if the sun itself knew of our grief and refused to shine. Father came by to collect Vell and I, for we must show up as a family (however much we are not one); he was dressed in dark grey, Vella and I wore black, covered in head to toe with black veils and dress.   
  
The Great Hall had been transformed. Standing there in the crowd as King Thranduil spoke noble words directed at the families who lost their sons, I could not help but reflect on how different the Great Hall seemed; how big and empty without the adornments it usually had. It was but one month before that elves gathered in this very same room, to laugh and to celebrate the joy of life; now, we gather in mourning and something akin to defeat, the proud people of Mirkwood in mourning. After the King's speech, Lord Wersthire, the father of the scout Felowin, spoke moving words. Tears trailed down my face by the end and even though Vella did not cry, she seemed unusually silent. Perhaps she truly does feel; perhaps there is a heart within that stone exterior.   
  
After the eulogies, Father, Vell and I approached the Houses of Leviran and Wersthire to express our lowest condolences and our sadness; Father spoke sweet words and I was glad to be hidden behind a dark veil. The world seemed distorted from within, a dark covering encircling everything, making all that I thought normal look odd and awry. We briefly caught up to Legolas, whose stoic face betrayed the tears inside. He smiled thinly at me, tugging at my veil; then he and Vella grasped hands as comrades would and I knew that something had transpired between them. I ran into Ilaya during the Procession, as the gold-laid pendants of Quirathus Leviran and Felowin Wersthire were carried solemnly towards their graves, that small area where elves who face death are commemorated. Ilaya was in tears, close to wails actually. It was later that I realized that Felowin was her cousin and that I'd remembered them playing together as children. I regretted my initial coolness.   
  
From behind my mantle, it's easy to pretend that I walk a nightmare. Some surreal dream of the arcane that makes emotions alive and pain visible. Everyone I met had a look of profound confusion int heir eyes, as if they too could not believe death possible. Not for us, not fur the elves. Not for the chosen children of Middle-Earth. And yet, what better evidence that death escapes none than the missing bodies of our dear brothers and sons, their heroic pendants sailing high upon the tallest tower; a shout out to the world of their brave deeds.   
  
After the sad farewell to the elves who had fallen, the court dispersed, most drifting here and there seeking comfort and solitude among others. It did not feel right to return to my rooms so I wandered out into the gardens where I had not been since the night I fell from the graces of Amethys-the-great. While others whispered softly to their companions, I walked alone in thought and pretended to be the ice queen that Vella was. TO my surprise, it was easier than it looked and it felt....good. Very good. Too good. Perhaps I have found the reason for Vella's mischief for within my locked heart, I too could be cruel.   
  
While I wandered, I hummed ancient lyrical ballads that I'd heard as a child at court. Wrapped up in my own dreams and surreal visions, I stumbled into a small grove off to the side. To my surprise, I found Legolas there, sitting alone and staring into the grey sky. He smiled wanly though I knew his thoughts to be thousand miles away. He gestured beside him on the stone bench and I sat obligingly.  
  
We sat in silence as the invisible sun rose to its zenith, and then fell back down to nightfall. When a small drop of rain hit my cheek, I turned to Legolas and asked what had been on my mind since the very beginning.  
  
"Will you be alright?" I asked, really meaning: would he go back to being the fun-loving friend and older brother I'd always loved? Every moments during these grey weeks, I wished for the prince to snap out of his dark mood and laugh. I did not realize I was holding my breath for his laughter until he actually did laugh, right there in the garden as the rain began to come down in hard pelts. He pulled me in, one arm around my shoulders and hugged me tightly.  
  
"Oh Avie...you do not know the least of it. And yet, I would never wish it upon you, not ever."  
  
I turned, gazing up at him. The Prince is about a head taller than me, though from under the crook of his arm, I realized that his earlier comment about me having grown might be true. Perhaps only because it had been so long since I'd actually taken the time to notice. I closed my eyes and for a brief moment, burrowed into his soft embrace and pretended things were alright.   
  
"I want everything to stay the same." I said softly, my voice muffled by his dark tunic. I played with the soft strands of blonde hair that hung down his back, comparing its light strands with my own. His hair is golden, the sort of golden blonde that everyone wants but not everyone gets. Next to his, my own blondeness is a pale comparison, a sheet of pure white with hints of yellow taints.   
  
"As do I, Ava. I would never wish change upon our little kingdom of Mirkwood."  
  
I smiled, liking how he said 'our kingdom' rather than 'my kingdom'. It made me feel wanted and important. The rain was coming down pretty hard by then but he didn't make any move to leave so neither did I. He turned to me and, in a sudden change of topic, asked me,  
  
"Are you and Vell on ill-terms?" I could hear the silent 'again' in his voice.  
  
I glanced away, not wanting to talk of Vella. Legolas smiled wryly, his first real smile.   
  
"You two never cease to amaze me."   
  
"What?!" That I, boring quiet mousy Ava, amaze anybody, is a shock. That I amaze the very Prince of Mirkwood....now that, I do not believe. I laughed, almost forgetting the sad occasion that brought us together.   
  
"You love each other so dearly, yet you treat each other so horribly." I snorted. The Prince shook his head, "Did you know that Vella used to sing you to sleep each night? Because you used to have those nightmares; she used to stay up each night next to you and hold your hand when you cried out."  
  
I flushed, shuddering at the remembrance of the awful dreams that had plagued me for sometime.   
  
"She is horrible!" I retorted, though it sounded childish even to my own ears. "She....she-!"  
  
"I know, Ave, she's impossible." Legolas squeezed my shoulders. "She's nosy and loud, immature and caustic. She's absolutely stubborn and rowdy-she's everything you are not. And that, my little Ave, is why you two are so amazing."  
  
I gazed up at the Prince, feeling something in my heart turn. Legolas smiled, leaning back and pulling me with him so that the bulk of the showers passed right before us.   
  
"Two moons, Ava. There is the white moon of day and the stormy moon of night. Who is to say one is better; who is to compare the love between them?"   
  
I didn't realize I had been holding my breath until I gasped and nearly suffocated.   
  
Have you ever looked at something your entire life and known it to be true, only to realize that the whole time, you never once saw what was before you? Have you ever known something your entire life only to figure that that which you know is something else altogether? That is how I looked at Legolas at that moment. He was this star, this radiant energy that I had felt my entire life and yet had never before known to be there. He was sudenly beautiful in my eyes; not only my friend, my brother, my Prince...but also this beautiful handsome Prince who sat before me and told me with more sincerity than I had ever known to be true, that I was amazing. Me, Avaranthe, amazing.   
  
It was so beautiful; he was so beautiful. Everything was so beautiful and at that moment, I could not find my breath. Was it wrong to fall in love, underneath a crying tree, on the day two of your own are buried? Is it wrong to fall in love with the one who has always loved you-the one who will never love you? Is it so wrong?  
  
He has always been my Prince. He has always been my friend. He has always been my brother. Can he not be my love?  
  
As he walked away through the rain, he turned once and smiled, that dazzling half-grin that I have always associated with love and acceptance. I realized at that moment that all the love and romance I had been searching for my entire life had been right there in front of me the entire time/  
  
I set out this day to mourn the lost. Instead, I found love. Of course, this love shall remain in only me, for if it should get out, it would be the end of me for sure.  
  
Until then,  
  
Avaranthe  
  
**  
  
**  
  
Lavas  
  
October 19 III 3017  
  
As if the very world around us senses a deepening darkness, it too has folded into blistering winds and blowing snow. It is early still and yet the forest around us has become dead and silent. Each day is marked in passing only by the chapters I have read and the pages I write in this journal. And yet, even writing has become difficult for there is so little to document.   
  
Legolas has disappeared again, and yet I do not miss his presence. Ever since struck by cupid's arrow, I find his presence disconcerting and unfulfilling. I fear I have lost a brother and a friend, and, in hopes of achieving too much, have lost everything. There is an ant that itches my mind telling me that Legolas spends his days with Vella, that they are lovers already, that she has stolen both my life and my love. These whispering that I know are evil persist and I am afraid that in this terrible process of love and loss, I will lose as well, a sister.  
  
Until then,  
  
Avaranthe  
  
**  
  
**  
  
Firith  
  
November 15 III 3017  
  
And still nothing happens. And still this love that has afflicted me infests and turns into deep, dark longing; the longing of the pitied and the desolate. And still, Vella has yet to speak a single word to me. The anger that so inflamed me after Festival has dwindled down to a small fire, and then even smaller still to but a spark. Yet, her anger still consumes and I dare not speak to her lest I enrage her further.   
  
The snows bury the Palace and all that surrounds us is white and heavy with cold and frost. It is like an island separate from the real world; adrift and afloat in dream. Each day passes onto the next like waves upon a shore, a soft comforting familiarity that makes one dull and unresponsive. I find myself sleeping away the days, often unwilling to even rise from bed. To see the Prince is a pain so sweet and undefined, I cannot bear it-so I stay away from court and pretend to be dead. When he knocks, I do not respond. When he enters, I pretend to be asleep. And yet, as he leaves, I long to call out and shout my love to him. To my prince. To Legolas.   
  
What is this evil that has cursed me? I beg for it to retract it deadly arrows from my bleeding heart. I beg to be returned to the innocence I once knew.   
  
Until then,  
  
Avaranthe  
  
** 


	9. Winter of Discontent

Chapter 9 - Winter of Discontent  
  
"....and then the princess turned to the King and demanded that all the peoples of Middle earth should be released and freed. And because the King was so mesmerized by her courage and her valour..." Vella paused, and then added as an afterthought. "..and her beauty, that he said she could have whatever she wanted and so the people were free once more. To laugh and to live as they pleased, but they all wanted to be under the rule of so just a Princess, so they placed the Princess upon the throne and the King married her, so she became Queen. And then the Princess' evil sister had to come crawling back and beg her sister for forgiveness lest she cast out." Vella laughed softly. "But the Queen was just and kind and she allowed her evil sister to stay, though she was forced to dig a well every single day, in rain or cold, for the good of the kingdom as a punishment for all the evil she had done." At this point, Legolas was laughing so hard, he could hardly contain himself. Vella stopped, glaring archly at him. "Evil sister?" He asked, sitting up slowly. Vella lay back against the window, staring into the white bleakness outside. "Very evil indeed. The worst." "Vell..." "Excuse me, good Prince, but it is my story!" She exclaimed indignantly. "I know but-" "But what?" Her eyes flashed. Legolas met her gaze squarely. "That's not fair, Vell. She's not here to defend herself." "I don't know what you're talking about." She replied stiffly. She leaned back, lodged comfortably in the window seat. It was the sort of Firith day in which the snows pummelled the Palace and a heavy stillness blanketed the entire atmosphere, making it desperately hard to get up and move. Legolas had found his way into Vellesta's company, as he'd found himself in very often lately, and had been taken on a wild journey in which a Princess freed a kingdom and slew orcs by the dozen. Ever since his return, he'd been suffering between terrible guilt and terrible joy. Which he preferred, he did not know. To be in Vella's company was a terribly joy indeed, a joy he didn't deserve. To not be in her company forced him to reflect on those dark days in the Southern borders of Mirkwood where things had gone terribly wrong. And yet, day after day, he found himself searching for the one who would tell him fantastic stories to take him away from this world. "Maybe you should forgive her." He said softly, glancing meaningfully at her. "She's your little sister, Vella." "She's no one to me." Vella replied coldly, something in her eyes coming up dead and hard. "Anyways, what are you now, her advocate?" "No, I'm just saying..." "Well no one asked you to say anything!" She snapped, turning away. A frosty cool settled between the two, making the Prince realize once more how much he depended on her these days. Legolas sighed, turning inward to his thoughts. Since their return, he'd been doing that a lot, thinking reflectively that is. Aragorn, the Ranger of Gondor, had long departed back towards Rivendell and his own lands. The elf didn't blame him for not wanting to stay in the mopey, droopy Palace during these long months of Firith. A part of him itched for adventure once more; another part dreaded leaving this very room. He turned to Vella, who was staring out the window with a listless bored expression. "What did she do, Vella?" He asked softly. She shot him a nasty glance, a culmination of her boredom and her annoyance that the Prince still hadn't told her anything of his Journeys. She would've thought he'd broken down by now but still, he made no mention of speaking of those days spent in Southern Mirkwood. It was as if he'd forgotten them altogether but for those moments when she glanced at him and saw the wild, brilliant darkness in his eyes. "Humph." "C'mon Vell, don't be like this!" The Prince knew that Vella waited for him to speak of his Journeys, to tell her all as he always had. And a part of him wanted to tell her everything; a part of him longed to pour out his tears into her open arms. But how could he tell her of his guilt and then face her each day? To tell her would be to lose her and he could not bear that, not right now, not during these darks months, not ever. His secrecy had caused a small rift to grow between them, a rift he usually ignored. A rift that was growing bigger each day and becoming more and more of an annoyance. "Well then," She turned away, that bland expression that she wore whenever she was hurt across her fair brow. "We all have secrets then, don't we?" For a moment, the valiant Prince felt like wringing her neck in frustration. Why didn't she understand? She'd always understood, why not now?! "Perhaps we do." He replied, his own anger too hot to cool in her presence. He stiffly got up and left the room with a slam of the door. Vella dared not turn for fear she would run after him like some silly ol' lady begging her lover to return. Who cares, she thought, he's just a silly boy. Her heart hurt, hurt from the lashed dealt by Legolas and the even crueller lashes dealt by herself. Is it me? She wondered, over and over. Outside, not two paces away from the door, Legolas took deep breathes. He gripped his fists tightly and resisted the urge to fling the door open and make her laugh out loud, deep and clear. With a final glance, he turned and disappeared.  
  
Avaranthe skulked around the Palace, a furtive glance down each hallway, then the rushing of skirts towards another dark passageway. Who was she hiding from? Ava stopped for a moment, seeing a reflection of herself in one of the fountains that adorned the center of a courtyard. With a splash of water, she turned away and made her way quickly towards her own chambers. The times she had to venture out form her own rooms were torture. Not only did she risk running into Lady Amethys or one of her crowd, but she also risked seeing Prince Legolas. Both, she avoided like a disease. Keeping her head low, she briskly made her way across the Great Hall towards the staircase onto the other side. Please don't notice me, please don't notice me, she whispered over and over. It seemed to be working because none of the ladies gathered around in groups even glanced up at the passage of the shy little elf maid with the glistening pale hair. She let out a sigh of relief as she approached the alcove that led to the staircase, knowing that for another day, she was free. Since their nasty little parting in the midst of Festival, Amethys hadn't forgotten the embarrassment she had suffered at the hands of Vellesta Rivermoon. She couldn't do anything to the older sister however, she didn't dare for fear that what Vella would do in return, would be nastier than anything she could think up. So, Amethys sunk lower, to the one she'd once accepted into her own group. Now, whenever Avaranthe walked by, Amethys was sure to glare wickedly at the young elf, promising dark deeds to come. Ava shuddered, trying to forget the hidden promises in Amethys' deep violet eyes. She didn't even want to dwell on what they meant. As she made her way up the stairs, slightly more relaxed, a sudden hand on her elbow made her freeze. "Avaranthe Rivermoon, I think you owe me a dance." It was a voice that chilled her to the bone. Turning slowly, she gazed into the sparkling grey eyes of Lord Breton. "Br-Breton!" She exclaimed, wearing a false spirited smile. "I'm sure I do except I'm on my way-" "Now." He interrupted good-naturedly. Then, with a firm hand on her arm, half dragged half-walked her back into a side room where Amethys awaited the baleful elf with a shimmering smile of pure contempt. "Well well well..little Avaranthe Rivermoon." Amethys smiled, too kindly and nodded at Breton who released the young elf with only a slight push. "What, no greetings in return?" Ava stared at the floor, doing what she did best: pretending she was a million miles away in a world of her own making. She was snapped back to reality when a cold hand gripped her chin and forced her head up. "You will look at me when I speak to you!" She spat, her eyes glittering daggers and heat. "Now, I think you owe me a little something, hmm?" "I don't-" Ava started, then stopped, her own voice dying in the heat of her protest. She owed nothing! How was this fair, to be blamed for her wretched sister's actions? Ava bit her lip and stared at the far window, willing herself to go deaf. "You, Avaranthe, are in for a little adventure!" Amethys laughed, releasing the younger one's face, and turning to her cohorts. "Don't you think, Lady Ilaya?" To Ava's horror, Ilaya Louvres, her own 'friend' now smiled maliciously back at her. Ava cast a pleading look towards her old friend, before being forced to return to Amethys' attention. "You're sister humiliated me, in front of-of everybody! That horrible elf did what a child would do! She was immature and crude, a horrible-" Amethys was a deep scarlet, her porcelain features contorted in rage. For a moment, she seemed ready to burst. Then, a cool placid calm smoothed her face and she became the cool collected beautiful lady Amethys once more. "Avaranthe, how do you like snow?" Ava gulped. Be brave, she admonished, Legolas is brave. He faces much more than Amethys and returns to speak of it. I shall be brave like my prince, she thought. But then, another look into Amethys' dark eyes made her spirit quake. Ava had never been the courageous one; she had always left the stunts and bravado up to Vella. But now, now, she had to be brave. She couldn't let this horrible lady win! Ava suddenly realized how stupid she'd been, to care so much about being accepted by the likes of Amethys and Breton, to care so much as to lose a sister for these phonies. A deep sense of regret washed over her, regret and sadness that she'd been so stupid, so shallow. "Do to me what you wish." She said, courage surging through her. Vella would be proud, she realized. Amethys laughed. "A sense of bravery in the shadow of the hell-bringer? I'm surprised." She turned to Breton and Ilaya. "Come on." They forced the elf maid outside, into the blistering winds and blowing snow, then threw her into a snowdrift, dressed in only Palace satin and silk. Floundering, a part of Ava retreated even deeper into herself; that part saved for occasions such as this, when the world seemed to spin around and around and fall before her. Glancing up, she saw only the glittering violet daggers that made for eyes, then was picked up roughly by Breton. On her feet once more, Ava shivered in the cold winter air. Snow covered her from head to toe, just starting to melt and wet her to the bone. The melted snow froze as soon as it melted and attached itself to her skin, making her turn an unearthly shade of pale blue. As she stood there shivering, Ava warily watched as Amethys circled around her; a hawk eyeing its prey before the final kill. "How does that feel, Avaranthe?" Her voice was soft. I used to adore this lady, Ava thought, I used to hate a sister for her. Inside, all she could feel was empty. Perhaps, she deserved this after all. After all she'd done and said, all the horrible things she'd done to Vella. Perhaps this was her punishment. "What do think, Avaranthe. Do you feel like crying? Or crying for your sister perhaps, do you think she can do something?" Amethys laughed, sharply, cruelly, then stopped. The silence killed. Ava's lips began to turn purple. It was the coldest Firith ever felt. "She can do nothing." The words echoed through the forest, to the Palace that stood snow-covered and unawares. Ava stared upwards into the grey sky. It had begun snowing again, the soft flakes landing on her pale brow and alighting her with fire. She was the ice maiden, bringer of sorrow and pain, frozen to the core. She was so cold, the shivers had stopped. Her body no longer attempted at warmth. The spectators shivered in their thick cloaks, pity marring their porcelain, elven features, yet each was unwilling to face the wrath of Amethys and stood back, cheering on the little elf on in their hearts, in their souls. Ilaya stared at the snow, willing herself not to look up lest she run to the side of her friend. The spite she'd felt so strongly in the Palace had diminished to be a cold, hard flame that burned too low. Amethys regarded the elf maid, a small smile of pleasure marring her features. From the looks of it, Ava seemed ready to collapse at any moments, to cave in for any sort of warmth, any sort of hope. Hope, Amethys had learned many centuries ago, was a powerful weapon. "Let's say I gave you my cloak, Avaranthe, would you be warm then?" Ava stared at the pale falling snow, deep inside of herself, reciting elven poetry over and over until she could hear nothing of the real world. Amethys grabbed her chin and the contact between hot and cold sent the elf maid reeling back into reality. "What if I arranged your marriage to Lord Breton here? What if you were to be on of my ladies, one of the elite." Amethys laughed. "You cannot fool me, child. I could see the pleasure you took of dancing all night, laughing with the best of society, partaking in the moonlit cruises. To live, Avaranthe, I give you that chance." Ava refused to meet the violet gaze. Amethys released her hold on Ava's head with a quick push, then paced back and forth in the deep, cool snow. "You have, after all, near nothing in terms of status. Your father is Lord Delanthor, sure, but that," Amethys turned to Ava and met her wide- eyed gaze, "can only help you so far." She continued to pace, back and forth, back and forth. "That devil of a sister that you have more or less ruined all chanced of respectability for your family, what with her reputation and that horrible scene she made during Festival. Who would court you, Avaranthe? Who would dare enter the vicinity of a Rivermoon?" Ava was so cold she could not it any longer. She did not realize she'd been clenching her fists until she looked down and saw deep dark drops of blood marring the snow; gashes in her palms bespoke of her strength. "I could change that, child. I could make you the most sought after lady in all of Mirkwood, in all of Middle Earth." Amethys placed one arm gently around the elf maid's slender shoulders and pretended to be warming her. "I could take you far; I could make you beautiful. I could give you life, Avaranthe, give you your choice of suitors, your choice of friends." Her violet eyes glittered, starkly bright against the pallor of the pale pale snow. "I could do it all, Avaranthe, so easily. I could give you the world." Without feeling anything, Ava began to shake. When she tried to speak, nothing came out. Her mind was numb, frozen with cold. "Ahh, I know what you think." Amethys began to pace again, her warm down cloak trailing in the snow. Ava watched the patterns it made in the soft drifts and counted the number of snowflakes that fell between the trees. "You think I want much from you, too much perhaps. That is where you're wrong, Avaranthe." Amethys smiled. "I want only one thing." "Wh-wh-what-t..." She stuttered out, seeing only warmth as a destination. It was funny how, out here, things became separated into only the most important and the unimportant. Amethys smile, knowing she had the young girl. "Vellesta." Her voice rang loud over the forest, over the dead still air. Ava cringed. "Give me Vellesta, Avaranthe, and I shall give you the world. A small price to pay, don't you think? I am not one to be greedy, I want only what is due to me." "I-I d-do not u-understand." "No?" Amethys walked towards the frozen elf and drew close. "It is simply really. You help me and I shall help you. Not hard, quite efficient actually. I only want justice, Avaranthe." Ava closed her eyes. She understood. She'd understood before she'd bee dragged out here into the snow. "What do you say, Avaranthe?" Amethys' voice echoed right in her head and for a brief, panicked moment, Ava wondered if the lady had found a way of playing with her mind as well. She remained completely frozen. The onlookers were beginning to tire of the charade, tire of the senseless bantering between the elves and the blue pallor the frozen one that was beginning to be an eyesore. "Let's go in!" They began to murmur as one. Amethys shot them a nasty glance, silencing them if only for a few moments. She leaned closer to Ava, feeling the cold emanating from the elf maid in radiating waves. It was as if she was Lady Firith herself, so still and frozen was she. "Just remember, Avaranthe, that I have other means of breaking that accursed sister of yours. Do not think that she is free due to your stubbornness. If you speak a word of this to anyone, you only make it worse for yourself." Amethys straightened, directing her voice to her followers. "Consider it, child." Then, with a sweep, she made for the Palace where its inhabitants rested completely unawares to the plight of the frozen elf. One by one, each of the onlookers shuffled behind their master, casting baleful glances at the poor frozen elf maid, then looking away. Ilaya was the last to leave, trying not to cry tears of salty warmth. "Ilaya." Breton motioned, calling from between the trees where most of the others had already gone. "One moment..." Ilaya glanced at Ava, who stood so still she might've been death itself if not for the slow clenching and unclenching of her bloodied hands. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she slipped off her cloak and let it fall to the ground behind her. Then, with a skip and a quick shuffle of her skirts, she raced towards the Palace and Breton. "...I lost my cloak that is all." She admitted with a flirtatious smile before ducking into the warmth. After they were gone, Ava felt herself cracking, inside and out. With a sob, she collapsed into the snow bank, her frozen fingers barely able to pull Ilaya's warm cloak around her shoulders. The tears she tasted her were hot, burning a trail on her pale cheeks. She could not move, could not make her body respond to her cries. She lay in the snow, the soft flakes caressing her cheek, and prayed for death to be swift. ~ When they came and told her that her little sister could not be woken, Vellesta Rivermoon did something she had never done before: she begged. When she arrived in the dark little room that served for a hospital, Vella immediately fell to her knees next to the frozen form of her sister and begged the slight bespectacled elf that held her heart in thrall to return to her a life to live, to give her a second chance. When the physician could only shake his head and shrug his shoulders, Vella flew into a rage and threatened to do nasty unmentionable things that included his stethoscope and his glasses. It was finally Legolas, the Prince of Mirkwood himself who'd been first on the scene, who had to step in and pull the enraged and panicked Vella off the poor Physician who could get no work done for fear of the hell-bringer. They sat in a corner, Legolas and Vella, while the physician busied himself with the small elf who slept a slumber of ice upon the cool bed. Every once in a while, Vella would stiffen up and begin afresh a new wave of fury and frustration only to be calmed by the cool Prince beside her, who was careful to keep a tight grip on the fiery elf maid. The day grew dark and still, Ava did not awake. Surrounded by warm plates and layers of blankets, the pallor never left her cheeks, the rosy flush did not return. Vella seethed and worried while Legolas thought of other things lest he too, lose his mind. "You found her?" Vella finally asked, her voice raw with worry. She turned to Legolas beside her and laid her head on his shoulder. She felt tired and limp, her energy spent. Legolas nodded, his eyes never leaving that all-too-still form of the sleeping Ava. "In the forest, not two paces from the palace. She was practically buried in the snow and she appeared to be sleeping." Legolas bit his lip to keep from saying what he thought, that it had looked like Ava had gone out there for a purpose, that she had intentionally fallen asleep in the snow to take her own life though to an elf, such a thought was ludicrous. "I tried to wake her but when she would not rise, I knew something was wrong indeed." Vella could feel his thoughts and where they went, for she too, feared the same thing. She looked at him, gazing into his tired blue yes and thought again about how he hid the darkness from her. "You fear she hopes to leave, to face death rather than live this life. TO get as far away from me as possible. TO go as far as death." There was no mistaking the bitter daggers that Vella drove into herself. Legolas squeezed the hand he held tighter and thought of all the times Vell had been there for him, there to hold him up when he fell. He would be here, here against the wind and cold, against the knives that she drove against herself. He would be her shield and her sword. The great doors to the room suddenly burst open and Lord Delanthor rushed in, his regal bearing weighed down with distress and worry. He had been interrupted from his meeting with the councils to the news that one of his daughters could not be woken. Expecting the worst, Delanthor barraged into the room demanding answers. "Father!" Vella jumped up and ran to him. She threw her arms around him as she once had, the young elf maid with her mother's shimmering eyes, and marvelled at the sobs that threatened to come out of her heart. She had not cried in front of other beings for centuries; her tears she kept private, as close as her soul as her pain. "Father!" And yet, the tears threatened so overwhelmingly that Vella could not hold back. A single tear fell onto her Father's awaiting hands, burning its course deep into Lord Delanthor's heart. "Oh Vella, what has happened? What is wrong!?" He spied the still form of Ava and his heart stopped. "Oh Vell, is she...is she.." His own pain threatened to consume. Vella backed off, her initial impulse for comfort abetted and replaced with cool, collected calm. "She's frozen, Father." Delanthor turned to Legolas who managed to fill in the gaps. After all had been explained, the great lord, advisor to the King of Mirkwood, took a seat next to his sleeping daughter and pictured over and over, the things he would do and say if she were ever returned to him. The little company was silent, watching and waiting and seething and dying. Every hourly rise of the broken moon, the physician would return, casting wary glances at Vella, to check on the state of the sleeping maiden only to shake his head and return to other duties. "You should sleep." Vella turned to Legolas, "You could get sick, you're already exhausted. I shall call you if she awakes." "I could say the same thing to you." The Prince stretched, feeling each of his limbs turning in their joints. "And yet, we shall both stay here until the dawn breaks, shall we not?" Vella pressed her lips together in a grimace of a smile. Delanthor gazed at the whisperings of the two elves in the corner but made no move to partake. The night wore on. Dawn rose finding the Prince and Vella asleep against each other, and Delanthor very nearly so himself. It was as the grey filtering of a Firith sun sprinkled the sky that Ava Rivermoon first opened her eyes after her ordeal. For a moment, she thought herself in the realm of the Dead, that forbidden place where few elves ever set foot. Am I dead? She wondered, gazing up at the dark grey ceiling and the pale waning light from the corner. Then, she glanced to the side and saw her father, his head bowed in exhaustion. "Daddy?" Her voice sounded odd to her own ears, distant and tired. She tried to lift her hand but could not seem to move. "Father!" Her cry woke Delanthor immediately. "Ava!" He woke from the drowse with a start. "Ava!" She blinked up at him, as if seeing him for the very first time. "Father.." "Oh Avie.." He grabbed her hands and felt tears rushing to his eyes, not realizing how much he'd been hoping for this exact moment. He held her hands close to his heart, to feel their warmth and life. "My daughter.." He whispered and pulled her close. Ava felt her body enveloped in warmth and for the first time since she'd given up on life out in the snowy drifts of Mirkwood Forest, she felt warm again. "Father...I missed you." Delanthor, a season warrior, struggled to hold back tears. He realized he'd never been so scared in his entire life than the night he'd just faced; orcs were nothing in the face of Death. Father and daughter embraced, each wrapped up in the mystery of love, when suddenly a gigantic sneeze shook both back to reality. Ava gasped, realizing her nose was entire made of plastic. She sneezed again. Delanthor smiled, one arm protectively around her. "Perhaps you caught a cold." Ava didn't miss the irony in the statement. Her sneezes, however, had awoken the two slumbering elves in the corner. With a cry, Vella tore herself from slumber with a wild axe. "What-what happened! What-what!?" She glanced around wildly, while Legolas struggled to figure out what had happened. Suddenly, both realized the elf maid that sat up from the long sleep and blinked at them with enormously blue eyes. Vella froze, her eyes on the younger elf. It took Legolas several pokes of the finger to get her attention. "Go to her, Vella." He whispered, prodding her forward gently. Ava did not miss their closeness and it wrung her heart; she turned away. Mistaking the flash of pain that had crossed her sister's face to be hate, Vella stopped herself. "She cannot bear to see me." "Don't be silly, Vell, of course she wants to see you." Ava stared at her pale hands, feeling the chill hand of guilt over her heart. In her mind, she was able to throw herself into her sister's arms and apologize over and over for her faults and her follies, for her mistakes and her cruelty. She'd never realized the depth of Amethys' evil until she'd been the brunt of them, she'd never realized how wrong she'd been. I'm sorry, she thought, over and over, but could not seem to make herself move. Vella studied Ava's expression and mistook it for irritation and anger. Ava felt Vella's hesitation and mistook it for contempt. Both sisters stood across a gulf too wide to be crossed in a single moment. And though each shed tears for the other, they could not make that step forward into the abyss. "She died to get away from me." She said dully, turning away and leaving the stifling room as quickly as she could. Legolas went after her, catching her hand before she could leave the Palace. "What are you doing, Vella!?" He demanded, angry. "Your sister is returned to you, alive and well, and you cannot even give her a decent welcome!" She tore herself away from the Prince, stung. "She does not want to see me." To her consternation, her words came out sounding altogether too close to tears. "I-I could not bear her hate." When she turned and ran, the Prince did not try to follow for he did not understand the ways of sisterhood. 


End file.
